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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Poems of Mrs. H. J. Lewis. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



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Mrs. H. J. LEWIS 




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BOSTON 
CUPPLES, UPHAM & COMPANY 

C^e Olir Conur bookstore 

283 Washington Street 
1885 






Copyright, 1885, 
By MRS. E. L. CLEMENTSON. 



Frank Woou, Printer, 352 Washixgton Street, Boston. 



IN MEMORIAM 



Over the quiet spot where thou art sleeping, 

Brightly the sunbeams fall ! 
Where yesterday the sombre clouds were weeping, 

To-day the blithe birds call ; 
But thou dost hear them not, nor the low. wailing 
Of autumn winds through the tree-branches trailing. 

Around thy tomb's low portal, vines are clinging. 

Wearing most brilliant hues ; 
And the gay flowers through summer days upspringin^ 

Bathed in soft showers and dews, 
Now withered lie ; and thou, the gentle-hearted, 
Heedest no more their fragrant bloom departed ! 

All that could perish we did leave to slumber 

Within those sacred walls. 
Where earthly burdens can no longer cumber. 

Where sin no more enthralls : 
We know the soul that thirsted for God's fountain, 
Drinks from the source upon the holy mountain ! 

And though unto the dust so fondly cherished 

We cleave with yearning love, 
Unto the home where ne'er a treasure perished. 

Led by the heavenly Dove, 
We look to find our own — a bless'd immortal, 
Waiting our presence at the heavenly portal. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

A Summer Morning 13 

To THE Spring Wind 14 

My Ships 15 

A Song 16 

Sunset at Sea 17 

A Valentine 18 

A Vista 19 

Eternity 20 

Without and Within . . 21 

New Friends and Old 23 

Hour of Dawn 24 

Give Me Old Music 25 

Spiritual Beauty 27 

To the May Winds 28 

" God Giveth his Beloved Sleep " 30 

A Memento 31 

Autumn Leaves 32 

My New Year's Offering ...... 33 

Present in the Spirit 35 

Grateful Memories 36 

Song 37 



POEMS. 



Page. 

Field Daisies 38 

"There shall be no more Sea" 39 

Abraham Lincoln 40 

Stanzas: "Call Thou, and I will Answer" ... 41 

The Late Spring 42 

To F. A. M. . 43 

Traveller on the Desert 44 

A Good-Night 45 

In Memoriam : A Sister's Tribute 47 

Winter is King 48 

"The Best of Now and Here" 49 

Trust 50 

Early Winter 51 

Breeze from the Sea 53 

My Books 54 

During the Rain 54 

Mrs. H. G. Otis 55 

On the Shore 56 

A Memento 58 

Our Treasure 59 

Song 60 

Frail Loveliness 61 

C. A. W 62 

O Vision Bright 62 

Midsummer .......... 63 

To A. B 64 

Twilight Hours 65 

Prayer for Rain 66 

The Better Land 67 

The Gift of Flowers . . 68 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

A Calm Day 69 

To E. A. B. L 70 

Our Indian Summer 71 

Out of the Shadow 72 

The Midnight Wind 73 

Autumn Hours 74 

Thoughts of Heaven 75 

"Summer is Dead" 77 

The Last Rose 78 

Rev. E. S. Gannett 79 

Before Sunrise 80 

Unknown 81 

Sonnet 82 

Sonnet 83 

Sonnet 84 

Sonnet 84 

At Eventide 85 

The Widowed Heart 86 

Frost-Work 87 

Adjuration 88 

A Summer Reverie 89 

" He Leadeth Me beside the Still Waters" ... 90 

Retrospection 91 

Our Spring 92 

A Memory 93 

Sea-Breezes 94 

My Minstrel 95 

Our Mocking-Bird 97 

An August Day 98 

The Unforgotten 99 



10 POEMS. 



Page. 

"Then saith he unto me, Worship God" , . . loo 

Stanzas : The Mater Dolorosa loi 

Margaret 103 

"The Lord is my Shepherd" 104 

My Sister's Portrait . , 105 

Come to Me 106 

To the Angel of Peace 107 

Nature's Influences 109 

Down by the River no 

The Mother's Charge .111 

The Merrimack River 112 

Let Me Die Young . 113 

A Summer Incident 114 

Just Seventeen. M. J. C 115 

Submission 116 

Song 117 

I WILL Lead the Way . 118 

Channing's Monument 119 

Life's Harvest 120 

"If it be Possible, let this Cup pass from Me" . . 122 

After a Ramble 123 

An Italian Scene 124 

America 125 

The River of Life 126 

Stanzas 127 

The Wish of the Dying 128 

Missing 128 

An Invitation 129 

"A Cup of Water in My Name" 130 

To One in Heaven 131 



CONTENTS. 11 

Page. 

Lost 132 

The Day of Rest 133 

Song 134 

Prayer for a Sick Child 134 

The Portrait on the Wall 135 

A Song for March 137 

Consolation 138 

To Capt. S. C 139 

God Distributeth Sorrows 140 

*' I have Prayed for thee, Peter " 141 

Easter 142 

February 16, 1883 143 

Our Life 144 

On the Bay 145 

Prayer for Guidance 146 

"Peace on Earth" 147 

A Benediction 148 



A SUMMER MORNING. 

The mist lies thick upon the distant hills, 

The leaves are dropping rain upon the earth ; 
And save a solitary bird that trills 

His wild, sweet strain, that tells of careless mirth, 
The silence is unbroken ; perfect calm 
Sheds its soft influence like a healing balm. 

Cloud after cloud moves slowly up the skies. 

Darkening the landscape with a sombre shade ; 
The deep-toned thunder in their bosom lies. 

And the forked lightning 'mid their folds is stayed. 
The storm still lingers, and a breathless sleep 
Through Nature's halls seems holy guard to keep. 

O let this soothing silence, like a prayer 

From stainless lips, sink to the lowest deep 
Of each earth-troubled bosom, shedding there 
A peace profound, a strength to stay the sweep 
Of sorrow's flood, that not in vain the doom 
By which all Nature robes herself in gloom ! 



14 POEMS. 



TO THE SPRING WIND. 

O soft South-wind, through my low lattice creeping, 
What message hast thou from the land of flowers ? 

What said the streams down mountain-passes sweeping ? 
What sang the birds in cool and fragrant bowers ? 

Lowly I listen till sweet voices, swelling, 

Pervade the atmosphere like rich perfume — 

Of orange groves in tropic islands telling. 

Of sparkling waves that cloudless skies illume. 

O what excess of deep and joyous feeling 

Stirs in the breast when Spring's light foot is traced 

Adown the hillside, or through wood-paths stealing, 
All by her genial presence warmed and graced ! 

Thou wakest in my spirit wild — fond dreaming — 

Visions of Paradise, and longings vain 
To take thy wings and flee, and catch the gleaming 

Of crystal rivers hastening to the main ; 

Of glad, bright birds, whose plumage, gay and shining, 

Is all forgotten in their gush of song : 
O blessed South-wind, through whose mild divining 

So much of love and beauty round me throng ! 



MV SHIPS. 16 



MY SHIPS. 

My ships come daily in from sea, 

Well freighted, too, with priceless store ; 

They bring the morning light to me 
Through the far East's unfolding door. 

And from this open portal gleam 
Purple and crimson, gold and blue. 

Till hill, and vale, and billow seem 
Transfigured to the wondering view 

They also bring, the ships that rove. 

Fresh whispering winds, that come and go, 

Laden with sweets from spicy grove 
Where tropic suns with fervor glow. 

Bright singing-birds from out their sails 
Flood the blue air with wealth of song : 

Into the port such glory trails 

With my proud ships, so swift and strong ! 

But other, holier burdens still 

They bear, these wanderers of the sea — 
Love that the waiting heart doth thrill. 

Friendship, and sacred memory ; 

Art, with its wizard skill to teach ; 

Music, a wondrous language given, 
That souls to other souls may reach, 

And claim with them a boundless heaven : 



16 POEMS. 



All these and more my ships convey, 
With silent blessings, to the strand ; 

Unlike gold-freighted vessels, they 

Ne'er fail to reach the Promised Land. 

No storms can rend, no billows toss 
Those stately barks ; unharmed they roam, 

And over treacherous shallows cross, 
And hidden rocks, but reach their home. 

My ships ! O what were life without 

These daily visitants of grace ! 
They scatter sorrow, strife, and doubt. 

And leave God's sunshine in their place. 



A SONG. 



When the sunbeams dropped most brightly, 
And our footsteps fell most lightly, — 
When no undertone of sadness 
Mingled with life's song of gladness, — 
O what precious truths we pondered. 
As along the hills we wandered. 

Thou and I ! 

Every flower whose fragrance blessed us. 
Each bland zephyr that caressed us. 
Voices soft of waters gliding, 
Now in light, now coyly hiding, — 
All were ours, and heaven above us ! 
All were ours, and seemed to love us. 
Thou and I ! 



SUNSET AT SEA. 17 



Well ! not wholly told the story 
Of those elder days of glory ; 
On our paths some shadows linger, — 
Care on each hath laid her finger ; 
But the torch of love burns clearly, 
And our hearts are linked most nearly. 
Thou and I. 

As of old, the blue of heaven, 
And the mellow shades of even. 
And earth's countless choir of voices. 
With which ever she rejoices, — 
Fill our hearts with bliss unspoken. 
Till we feel no love-link broken. 

Thou and I. 



SUNSET AT SEA. 

The sun is tending to the distant verge 

Where skies and waters meet ; 
I saw it from its eastern bed emerge. 
In glorious state complete,- — 

Banners of gold and crimson waves afar, 
Till faded from my eyes the morning star ! 

And all day long, uncurtained by a cloud. 

It marked our onward way ; 
The breezes never slept, but, like a crowd 
Of angel wings at play. 

Swelled the white canvas with the fresh, mild air, 
And filled my spirit with a grateful prayer ! 



18 POEMS. 



Now the cool waves, just ruffled by the breeze, 

Throw up their crested heads 
To catch the gorgeous hues that flood the seas 
Through which our light bark threads 

Its devious way. Clear is the dome above, 
From which the stars shine like the eyes I love. 

I to the Orient speed — thou to the West, 

To light my native land. 
O couldst thou bring me, after welcome rest, 
News from the household band, 

How should I bless thee ! If they live, I know 
Their love, and prayers, and blessings with me go. 

It is enough ! Thou kindly orb, farewell ! 

The waters seem to part. 
Breathing a low, mysterious, solemn spell. 
To win thee to their heart. 

Again the waters and the skies unite, 

And nought is left but a broad track of light. 



A VALENTINE. 



I choose thee, not as birds select their mates, 
For a brief season of soft airs and bloom ; 

But for all coming time and changing fates, 
For chequered hours of sunshine and of gloom. 



A VISTA. 19 



I choose thee for my spirit's strength and hope, 
Its guide in 'wildering paths, its changeless star ; 

Its shield when 'mid temptations thick I grope, 
Light of my home, to lure me when afar ! 

I choose thee, that I may with gentle hand 

Pluck of earth's choicest flowers to strew thy way. 

And bid thee, crowned with love and truth, to stand 
Queen of my little realm with boundless sway ! 

Thou know'st not scorn, else I should fear to lay 

Open before thee thus my secret soul. 
And all its troubled depths to thee betray. 

Where love, and hope, and fear bear mixed control. 

My heart is like that fountain famed of old 
Whose waters swept until, in path of flame, 

An angel trod, with brow of heavenly mould, 
And stirred its depths till healing virtues came. 

Be thou the angel to my spirit's need. 

And heal the wounds thyself hath planted there ; 

And in thy large, blue eyes O bid me read 
Life's sweetest lesson on a page most fair ! 



A VISTA. 



They all are there — the wood, the field, and river. 

Whose shining flow made the calm landscape bright ; 

And e'en the trees have their old winsome shiver 

When the winds sweep them with their pinions light. 



20 POEMS. 



The hillside rises like an emerald billow 

Above the little lake of stainless blue, 
Where the large lily-leaves find welcome pillow, 

With here and there a snow-white flower in view. 

There lie beyond the lake wide meadows sleeping, 
Lulled by the murmuring of the restless bees, 

Their summer prime in verdurous beauty keeping 
Beneath the flickering shadows of the trees. 

O were there ever skies so blue and tender 

As those that made "the heaven of life's young dream," 
When breezes came their storied sweets to render, 

And bear the song of insect, bird, and stream ? 

Was ever rest like that with no wild ranging 

Of tireless thought for bliss beyond our ken ? — 

A deep content so tranquil and unchanging 

That heaven seemed near in blissful foretaste then? 

Such memories rend the mists around us creeping 
As the years bear life's early dreams away ; 

And when they sometimes part, our hearts are reaping 
The harvests of spent years in life's late day. 



ETERNITY. 
"Lifetime of God " — eternity — how vain 

The hope to measure that which hath no end 
And no beginning ! Let the mind explain 
Its curious structure, bid it comprehend 
The ties that bind it to its home of clay, 
Then may it circle heaven's resplendent day! 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 21 



Do the bright spirits of the land unseen 
Live in one blissful, all-sufficient nowl 
Is there no past from which they daily glean ? 
No white-robed future, with its shining brow ? 
Is there no call for memory's siren voice ? 
No room for hope in which we so rejoice ? 

Thou knowest, and the angels round the throne. 
Thou, at whose bidding infant time was born ! 
To our vain questionings the w^orld unknown 
Is silent as the opening veil of morn ! 

Light, Father, light, to know and do thy will. 
That thus our doubting spirits may be still ! 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 

Drop, drop, thou weary rain, 

Adown my window-pane, 
And from the pine-tree boughs beside my door : 

My thoughts have spread their wing 

For silent wandering 
By lake, and mountain, and the summer shore. 

Again the mountain sweep 

Rises from valley deep, 
And the light mists curl round its hoary head. 

Again the veil is rent, 

And the blue firmament. 
Lovely as dreams of heaven, round all is spread. 



22 POEMS. 



Then in primeval wood, 

A peopled solitude, 
I wander, as of yore, at fall of day, 

And through a verdant aisle. 

As of some ancient pile. 
What floods of light with deep'ning shadows play ! 

And then by darksome lake. 

Whose echoes softly wake, — 
With a sweet flower that since to mortal eyes 

Perished in all its bloom, — 

I stand at twilight's gloom. 
And in its crystal depths find starlit skies. 

I hear the silvery call 

Of that lone waterfall 
Whose music charmed the eves of long ago : 

Amid the sounds of day 

Its murmurs died away. 
But woke again with moonlight's chastened glow. 

My little garden-bound 

Again my feet have found, 
And the dark violet and the rose are there ; 

And in cool beds of green 

Are clustering lilies seen. 
Lifting their petals to the balmy air. 

And hush ! a choral strain 

Sweeps o'er the verdant plain, 
And finds an echo on the tree-clad hills. 

O music, lost and found, 

Amid what depths profound 
Your holy ministry its task fulfils ! 



NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 23 

And thou, O solemn sea, 

Whose low-toned melody 
And stately ebb and flow so charm my soul ! — 

Upon the tide-w^ashed sand 

Or the gray rock I stand, 
And feel the thrill that wakes at thy control. 

Drop, drop, thou weary rain, 

Adown my window-pane. 
And blow, thou chilling wind, from off the sea ! 

Within my lowly room 

Are sunlight, song, and bloom. 
And the blue sky looks gently down on me. 



NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 

I love the new, kind friends that o'er my way 

Daily strew^ flowers, and light with winsome smiles 

The shades that gather round life's closing day, 
iVnd whose fresh presence weary thought beguiles. 

But we who long time's changeful paths have trod. 
Cling to the hearts that loved when life was new, — 

That knew our morning hours, the dew-tipped sod 
O'er which youth's careless feet in rapture flew ; 

Spirits that through earth's conflict bravely stood, 
Undaunted by the storm ; and when it passed. 

Clung to our fortunes through each changing mood, — 
Such must be first, the dearest, and the last. 



24 POEMS. 



Age has few hopes that waning years can fill, 

So memory takes their place, and lives with those 

Who vanished long ago, or those who still 

Walk side by side with faltering step and slow. 

Ye later friends, though faithful, fond, and true, 
Accept such love as may be mine to yield ; 

But, oh ! forgive, — since hearts cannot renew 
Founts that so long ago were first unsealed. 



HOUR OF DAWN. 

Not yet withdrawn night's star-flecked veil, 

And not a sound disturbs the air ; 

The waning moon hangs low and pale 

Adown the west, to vanish there 

Behind the hill, whose wooded height 
Is touched with solemn, silvery light. 

Lo ! as we gaze, the purple skies 
Take on a softer, clearer hue ; 
And up the east still wavelets rise. 

And flood the heaven's unclouded blue. 
The stars haste not to fade away 
Before the first glad smile of day. 

Down where the sky and ocean meet, 

A cloud of kindling glory lies ; 
And o'er it hangs the dome, replete 

With change that mortal skill outvies — 
Green, gold, blue, violet, all as one 
Hailing the grand, ascending sun. 



GIVE ME OLD MUSIC. 25 

And this is morning's hour, its hush, 
Its slow, unfolding banners spread 
From the horizon's rim, to flush 

The zenith whence the stars have fled. 
Hail and farewell ! for while we gaze, 
Day breaks o'er all life's pleasant ways, 

And dawn becomes a beauteous dream, 
Which ne'er a waking hour betrays — 
A something like a transient gleam 
Of founts whence drop celestial rays. 
That seem undimmed to filter through 
Our arch of pure, translucent blue. 



GIVE ME OLD MUSIC. 

Give me old music, for my spirit faints 

For some strong spell to touch fond memory's 
string,— 

For some sweet song of old, whose magic paints 
With brilliant hues the shades which sorrows fling, 

Give me old music, that which thrilled the heart 
When youth's warm hopes and sunny skies were 
mine, — 
Ere disappointment pierced me with its dart. 
And friendship knew no blight, or love decline. 



26 POEMS. 



Give me old music, that to which the dead, 

In long years past, have listened to and praised. 

Oh ! with their presence, can our love have fled, 
That memory basks not in the visions raised? 

Give me old music, for the world's chill hand 
Hath cast its fetters on my drooping soul, 

And childhood's freshness flees at its command, 
And cold suspicions like a torrent roll ! 

Forgive me, that I may not love thy lay ! 

The past with music is so sweetly twined. 
That round each song of old such raptures play 

As touch the heart-strings with a power refined ! 

Oh ! when the world grows dark, and hopes expire. 
And the heart sickens in the glare of day. 

How some old strain wakes up the latent fire. 
And calls our freshness from its swift decay ! 

In the far spirit-land shall all be new ? 

No sound, no strain, to whisper of the past ? 
Must we blest memory's hallowed power subdue ? 

How tasteless then the joys around us cast ! 

Give me old music, for the cottage door 

Round which, in thoughtless infancy, I strayed, 

At its command stands open as before ; 

Within, the lute on which my grandsire played ! 



SPIRITUAL BEAUTY. 27 

And, hush ! that strain — it echoes in my heart ! 

Whence comes it, with its mighty power to quell 
The fearful thoughts which into being start 

With strength too deep for human words to tell ? 

Whence comes it — on the wild wind's mighty breath ? 

Doth darkness nurse it in its secret bower ? 
Say, is it mightier than the conqueror Death ? 

Or fragile as the bright, sweet summer flower ? 

I know not — ask not — since beneath its wing 

My weary spirit finds a calm repose ! 
To its pure shrine my lowly gifts I bring. 

And court the peace its breath around me throws. 



SPIRITUAL BEAUTY. 

Unto men's careless eyes 
Thou hast no beauty ; but thou seem'st to me 

So good and pure, so free from vain disguise, 
My heart grows warm whene'er I think of thee. 

How clear and calm the light 
That from thine eyes drops tenderness on mine ; 
And not on mine alone, but through the blight 
Of others' tears thy healing glances shine. 

Thou seem'st to bring with thee 
Sunshine and song, the breath and hue of flowers, 

Whisper of breezes, murmurings of the sea. 
And all the gladsome train of summer hours. 



28 POEMS. 



Thy presence hath a spell 
To conjure shadowy woods and tranquil eves, 

And showers that half in golden sunlight fell, 
And wove gay rainbows over glistening leaves. 

And beautiful thou art 
Unto the friends that love and safely lean 

On thy brave gentleness, thy steadfast heart. 
And read truth's record in thy life serene. 

The rose may lend its bloom. 
The stars their lustre, and the sea its sheen 
Unto some glowing faces, but there loom 
Around thy path God's smile and peace serene. 

So, while the careless turn 
Away, unheeding all thy tranquil ways. 

There are who know that altar-fires may burn 
Untouched by worldly breath of blame or praise. 



TO THE MAY WINDS. 

Speak to me, breezes, speak to me ! 

I wait, I pine to hear 
What ye have done in woodland dells, 

What leaves, what buds appear ! 



TO THE MAY WINDS. 29 



Doth the pale violet scent the air? 

Say, are the mosses green ? 
Doth the young grass o'er mead and hill 

Spread out its emerald sheen ? 

Speak to me, breezes, speak to me ! 

What shadows come and go 
Upon the lake's unruffled flood 

Of noiseless ebb and flow ? 
What flowers are nodding on the brink ? 

What wild bird drops its wing 
Upon the elm-tree's swaying bough 

At eve, to sit and sing ? 

Speak to me, breezes, speak to me ! 

Bring some fond, gentle word 
From those who stray 'mid springtime blooms, 

Who list the springtime bird ! 
Tell them the garden of my heart 

Blooms all as freshly still 
As when, together through the wood, 

We traced the murmuring rill. 

Speak to me, breezes, speak to me ! 

Do they not need me there, — 
The bird, the flower, the tranquil lake. 

Broad fields and valleys fair ? 
No ! but my heart hath need of them ! 

I pine once more to be, 
O Nature ! thine own gladsome child. 

Least bound 'mid all things free ! 



30 POEMS. 



GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 

Softly the wild bird sinks 
Into his downy nest when twilight falls, 

And not one care his trustful spirit links 
To the wide world without his fragile walls. 

Untaught of those who wake to watch and weep, 
He knows — God giveth his beloved sleep. 

The rangers on the hills ; 
Unnumbered herds that roam the verdant plain ; 
The gliding serpent, charming while he kills ; 
The bee that homeward bears his luscious gain,- - 

These rest when o'er them evening shadows creep ; 
They know — God giveth his beloved sleep. 

The very flowers are bowed 
When cooler airs caress them, and the dew 

Hangs from their tinted petals, and a crowd 
Of glittering stars look forth from fields of blue ; 

Then, while the songs of angels o'er them sweep, 
They rest — God giveth his beloved sleep. 

To all, most holy night ! 
To the green leaves, the mountain springs, the flowers, 

Thou comest with thy silent wing of might. 
And blessings greet thee for the tranquil hours ; 

And man, o'erborne with grief, forgets to weep, 
Knowing — God giveth his beloved sleep. 



A MEMENTO. 31 



And they all rest in peace ; 
Passion is hushed, the toil, the strife are o'er ; 
The struggling spirit hath obtained release, 
And plumes its wings, though but in dreams, to soar. 
O blessed night, that bears through shadows deep 
The charm which giveth God's beloved sleep ! 

And when the mellow light 
From eyes we love grows dim, and fades away ; 

When the low, grassy mound conceals from sight, 
One who had made the brightness of life's day ; 

When floods of grief the spirit's chambers sweep, 
O think — God giveth his beloved sleep. 



A MEMENTO. 



Some faded flowers ! Just thirty years 

Since they were plucked, one bright June day, 

And laid, with mingled smiles and tears, 
Within a hand more frail than they ! 

What hopes have blossomed into birth, 

Expanded, faded, since that hour ! 
What griefs have stayed the tide of mirth. 

And ruled with Fate's relentless power ! 

The eyes that welcomed their fresh bloom 
See no more beauty 'neath the sun ; 

They closed to ope beyond the gloom 
That gathered ere life's toil was done. 



32 POEMS. 



Poor, fragile tokens of a day, 

Whose brightness was a gleam from heaven, 
Ye live, but that has passed away. 

Lost in the deep'ning shades of even ! 

There are no words for thoughts like these, — 

They are too holy, and too sad ; 
A shaded past the vision sees, — 

The future can no more be glad ! 

Yet, as I gaze, the rushing tide 
Of memory floods the weary way, 

And I am standing by her side, 

These blossoms fresh, and sweet, and gay. 

If in the home we share not now, 

There open new and lovelier flowers. 

May some kind angel twine her brow 
In memory of those earth-born hours. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

With reverent care I lay you back, 

O withered leaves, within my book ; 
For, while I gazed, the woodland track, 
The rustling boughs, the shaded nook, 
The song of the shy bird, its flight, 
All lived again in memory's light. 



MV NEW YEAR'S OFFERING. 33 



O times of sweet refreshment, passed 

Where Nature spread unfailing feast, 
You are not gone ; I hold you fast, 
Not amid present joys the least : 

Again where light and shadow meet, 
I pluck fresh blossoms at my feet. 

My heated brow receives anew 

The baptism of the summer air. 
And soft, white clouds on softer blue 
Break on my vision heavenly fair : 
All these, and more, O fragile leaves, 
Your presence in one picture weaves. 

So, when the summer hours have fled, 

And wood and hillside woo no more,— 
When field and garden bloom lie dead, 
And winds forget the sweets they bore, — 
Some leaf still bright with autumn hue 
Can precious memories renew. 



MY NEW YEAR'S OFFERING. 

Naught that the world calls precious do I bring 

On this auspicious day. 
To tell thee how my heart to thee doth cling. 
And with what gentle sway 
Thou rulest all my life, till scarce I know 
Whose will I follow in the paths I go. 



34 POEMS. 



Into imagination's boundless field 
How oft my wishes stray, 
To cull for thee the choicest of its yield, 
Low at thy feet to lay, — 
And be myself most blessed in blessing thee, 
Content the sunlight of thy joy to see. 

I cannot bid thee take what is thine own. 

The love, the wish, the prayer, 
That circle all thy being as a tone 
Of music fills the air : 
All thine ! but not dead gifts, like autumn leaves ; 
Each from a deathless source its life receives ! 

So take these few weak words instead of gems. 

Or costly robes, or flowers, 
And hide them in thy heart : when diadems, 
And thrones, and earthly powers 
Have crumbled into dust, my gift shall bloom. 
Fadeless as Eden's brightness, 'mid the gloom. 

O, generous heart ! " forever spent, and still 

Renewed forevermore," 
From thy large cup my lesser goblet fill. 
And share thy priceless store ; 
So shall we walk together in the light 
Of earthly being or in grief's dark night. 



PRESENT IN THE SPIRIT. 35 



PRESENT IN THE SPIRIT. 

Oh, not alone, though never more 

I hear thy footfall by my side ! 
My heart so grew to thine of yore, 

That when they whispered me, " He died," 
I knew, through all life's waning years. 
Thy love would stay the blinding tears. 

And so I walk with thee by day. 

And roam at night 'neath starry skies ; 
And mark, thou always near, the play 
Of shadows where the green hills rise. 
And see the moonbeams' silvery glow 
Lie soft where ocean murmurs low. 

As day by day, o'er mountain height, 

Floated the fleecy clouds away. 
And in each rugged gorge the light 
In all its golden richness lay, 

I felt that thy clear eyes with mine 

Gazed on each vale, each mountain-shrine. 

When life seems clouded most, and drear. 

In spirit rests my hand in thine ; 
And when my path is smooth and clear. 
Thy smile makes all its peace divine. 
Not parted — no ! but at my side. 
Lover, and friend, and angel guide ! 



36 POEMS. 



GRATEFUL MEMORIES. 

Thanks for the night ! 
Slumber descends upon our weary eyes ; 

Cool breezes shake the dew from sleeping flowers, 
And bear their perfume through the midnight hours 
Unto our pillows. Thanks for that pale light 
That doth survive the hue of sunset skies. 

Thanks for the morn, 
With its rich gushes of the wild birds' song, 
Its wealth of dewdrops gemming every spray, 
Its sounds of lowing herds that greet the day, 
Its rosy beams o'er hill and valley borne. 
Calling to life anew earth's happy throng. 

Thanks for the noon. 
When bird and beast the welcome covert seek. 
And the hot air is still. The waving grain 
And slowly rip'ning fruits adorn the plain 
With promises of harvest's gracious boon, — 
God's gift to man — the mighty to the weak. 

Thanks for the eve. 
When peaceful toil renews its wasted powers : 
The blue mist settles on the hills and streams. 
And the still valleys, like the land of dreams. 
Give forth no sound. O magic hours, to weave 
From hope and memory life's perennial flowers. 



SONG. 37 



SONG. 

The hopes of my childhood and youth are imfaded, 
And blossom as fair in the sun of to-day 

As if not a cloud their young beauty had shaded, 
As if not a whisper had told of decay. 

What beautiful visions of love hovered round me ; 

I feared them too lovely, too pure for my lot ; 
But oh ! with the choicest of blessings they crowned me, 

And gave me an Eden where thorns flourish not ! 

They told me in youth that the world was a valley 
Of sorrow and tears, with less sunshine than cloud : 

Not such are the thoughts that round memory rally ; 
They are tender and sweet, they are sparkling and proud. 

Some friends that I loved in the morning departed ; 

Some flowers I tended were crushed at my feet ; 
But round me, yet smiling, there cling the true-hearted, 

And the perfume of other fresh blossoms I greet. 

I dread not the future, whose hues are all brightness. 
But, happy to-day, with my cup running o'er, 

I will sing, with a heart that yet bounds in its lightness, 
As care-free and joyous as ever of yore ! 



38 POEMS. 



FIELD DAISIES. 

There came into my still and lonely room 

Daises from off the field, 
White as the spotless lilies in their bloom, 
With hearts of gold revealed 
'Mid circling leaves so delicate and frail, 
That brought light with them where the shades 
prevail. 

Children of sun, and rain, and midnight dew, 

Fanned by the wandering wind. 
With eyes forever searching heaven's clear blue 
Their radiant stars to find. 
Ye drink their light when all around is still, 
And perfumes from unnumbered flowers distil. 

The whippoorwill his nightly call repeats 

From out the forest shade ; 
And when the morn invades his dusk retreats. 
And night's pale glories fade. 
Other and sweeter voices bid ye hail. 
And the fresh dews upon the winds exhale. 

The dawning finds your yet unwithered bloom 

Greeting the rising sun. 
Losing no brightness, gathering no gloom, 
When the long day is done. 
The restless bee has sought your lowly bed. 
And from your dainty largess freely fed. 



" THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEAr 39 

No lioral darling nursed with tender care, 

Seems fairer to the view 
Than ye, free children of the sun and air, 
That favoring springs renew ; 
Your presence teaches, like the sparrow's fall. 
That He who made, careth for great and small. 



"THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEA." 

Not so, not so ! How would the weary eye 
Long for the rest of its far-reaching blue, — 

The wings that o'er its ruffled bosom fly, 
Its light and shade forever fair and new ! 

How should we miss the charm of sunset hour, 
When every hue that makes it fair and bright 

Falls on the heaving flood, till, like a flower. 
It blooms beneath the arch of colored light ! 

There shall be no more sea I " Must then the tone 
That makes more happy the unstricken heart. 

And soothes all sorrow, never more be known, 
When from the glad and glorious earth we part ? 

O gracious God, if there shall be no sea, 
Cause that we yearn not for its beauty lost ! 

Morning and evening it hath led to thee, 

Hearts that were sore and often tempest-tossed. 



40 POEMS. 



And when the moonlight lies upon its breast, 

Along its pathway do our spirits rise 
Unto thy throne in the far land of rest, 

Where sorrows wound not, and hope never dies. 

There should our senses miss the rhythmic roll 
Of the soft summer sea ? Oh, speak and tell, 

Ye loved and lost, who vanished like a scroll 
On which consuming flames resistless fell ! 

Tell us what other boon hath heaven in store, 
To stay our yearning, when we turn to see 

The broad, blue fields that stretch from shore to shore, 
And find them not ! What shall our solace be ? 

Enough that He who made, can fill the soul, 

Here and hereafter, till its deeps o'erflow : 
Enough that love and tenderness control 
Our fate where'er in joy or doubt we go. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Blaze not so brightly, O thou springtime sun ! 

Sing not so cheerily, O springtime bird ! 
For the black deed that wicked hands have done. 
Has to their lowest depths our bosoms stirred ; 
And all the beauty and the bloom are dim 
To eyes that weep, and hearts that bleed for him. 



STANZAS. 41 



Great in his grasp of thought, and good as wise, — 

Not one pale shadow on his fame to rest, — 
Honor, love, trust, and all that good men prize, 
Were well-worn treasures of his guileless breast. 
We dare not count our loss, but strive to see 
Through the thick darkness where God's light 
may be. 

Bring for his honored head the laurel crown ; 

Low at his feet spring's loveliest blossoms spread ; 
On spotless marble grave his fair renown, 
And write his name among our noblest dead. 
Deep in the nation's heart his rest shall be. 
Till time is lost in far eternity. 

O Father, sorely hath our faith been tried. 

But it hath failed not in this darksome hour : 
We do remember who on Calvary died 

By murderous hands, — nor did thy boundless power 
Stay the dread deed ; so, 'mid the deep'ning 

gloom. 
We will wait calmly for the opening tomb ! 



STANZAS. 

" Call Thou, and I will answer." 

Through the long, sleepless watches of the night 

I listen for Thy call ; 
And voiceless stars look down through purple light. 
And pearly dew-drops fall ; 
But silently.! I hear no whisperings sent 
Through the broad chambers of the firmament ! 



42 POEMS. 



Wilt Thou not speak to me, that I may rise 

From out these dark'ning shades, 
Into the clearer glory of Thy skies, 
Where mortal sorrow fades ? 
And I will answer from my deepest need, 
Lord, give me strength for what thou hast decreed ! 

Call when Thou wilt ! In joy's refulgent hour. 

Through the thick rain of tears. 
In winter's cold or spring's awakening flower, 
Through all that grieves or cheers, 
Softly my heart shall listen and be still. 
Content in silence to abide Thy will ! 



THE LATE SPRING. 

" While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest shall not fail." 

We bide Thy time, through snow, and cold and gloom, 
'Mid winter's reign, in spring's advancing hours, 

Though earth embraces still, in one vast tomb. 
The germs of tender grass and early flowers. 

We bide Thy time, though clouds obscure the sun. 
And the bleak winds no note of gladness sing ; 

Though ice still gathers where the streamlets run. 
And night comes down- with frost-o'erladen wing. 



TO F. A. M. 43 



We bide Thy time, whatever fate attend 

Our pathway through the valley where we tread ; 

And if to mountain heights our feet ascend, 
Wilt thou precede, our couch of rest to spread ! 

Safe, safe with Thee, whose strength is all our hope, 
How sweet the burden of our care to lay 

On thy great love, while here in doubt we grope, 
Biding Thy time through bright or clouded day. 



TO F. A. M. 



I long to sit once more far up with thee 

Upon the breezy hillside, where of yore 
We heard the summer winds sing pleasantly 

Among the neighboring woods ; while, glancing o'er 
Our rustic seat, the bird would trill his lay. 
Then to the shade betake his joyous way. 

How gaily sped the lightsome clouds along, — 
How softly down their trailing shadows fell ; 
How sweet, when breeze and bird withheld their song, 
Came up the brook's low voice from darksome dell 
Wliere, loiterers oft upon its verdant brink. 
Among the birds and flowers we paused to drink. 



44 POEMS. 



Not any nook around us but was filled 

With sweetness and with beauty ; vines o'erlaid 
The emerald sod, and flowers their sweets distilled, 
And old gray rocks their mossy robes displayed : 
The earth and air a living temple stood. 
Wherein all things were lovely, all things good. 

O Nature, strong to soothe, sustain, and bless, 

Winning the heart firom care and voiceless grief. 
Thy mission is of angel tenderness ; 

Thine influence brings to weary souls relief: 

And that green hillside where our feet have trod, 
Friend of long years, to me is hallowed sod ! 



THE TRAVELLER ON THE DESERT- 

A burning waste of sand 

Stretches on every hand ; 
No tree, or flowering shrub, or blade of grass 

The voice of singing bird 

No listener ever heard 
On all this waveless sea in which we pass. 

The sun's consuming ray 

Falls on our hurried way. 
But shines reflected from no gurgling stream ; 

And the wind's moaning breath 

Seems freighted with still death. 
Hushing our hearts as with a fearful dream ! 



A GOOD-NIGHT. 45 



Of all the countless throng 

With heart and purpose strong 
Who passed before, no footprint now remains 

And when to-morrow's sun 

Its journey hath begun, 
No trace of us shall linger on these plains. 

No cloud comes floating by 

To soothe the weariest eye, 
Gazing too long on brightness without shade : 

No dew at everting hour 

Falls in a silent shower, 
Like a soft blessing on the forehead laid. 

But Thou, sublimest One ! 

Whose is the mid- day sun. 
Whose are the trackless deserts and the sea, 

Thou art alone our stay 

Upon this fearful way, 
And in our loneliness we turn to Thee ! 



A GOOD-NIGHT. 

With the day's garments lay 

Thine earthly cares away, 
As an o'er-wearied child casts down its toys 

Bid the wild throbbing cease 

That broke thy heart's deep peace 
Amid life's surging waves of griefs and joys. 



46 POEMS. 



Take to thy darkened room 
No shade of inward gloom, 

Since angels gather there to guard thy rest : 
And through the silent night 
Gather from fields of light 

Some healing herb to bind unto thy breast. 



From life's perplexed affairs, 

Its memories, hopes, and prayers. 
Thou wilt lie down to slumber sweet and deep ; 

But who can say for thee. 

When shall the wakening be ? 
Will earth or heaven the future harvest reap ? 

Go, then, forgiving all, 

Upon thy God to call, 
Life's crown of thorns no longer on thy brow ; 

And, fanned by angels' wings. 

Dream of all glorious things. 
And with thy guides at heavenly altars bow. 

Fresh as the morning dew 

Begin thy life anew — 
If such thy Father's will — upon the earth. 

Pluck from the past its flowers 

To garland future hours. 
But leave the thorns in soil that gave them birth. 



IN ME MORI AM: A SISTER'S TRIBUTE. 47 



IN MEMORIAM: A SISTER'S TRIBUTE. 

Canst thou not whisper me that thou art here 

In thy fair seaside home, while fields are green 
And leaves hang thickest on the trees so dear 

That shade the paths where thou no more art seen, 
Marking each opening flower, and bending low 
To catch the roses' breath when south winds blow 

The roses bloom, the viofet lifts its head, 

And all bright hues are scattered at our feet ; 
But never more shall echo to thy tread. 

The garden-bound to thee so dear, so sweet. 
Tree-branches wave in the soft summer air. 
And birds sing blithely, but thou art not there . 

Thy love wrapped all earth's bright things in its glow; 

But when thy feet grew weary, angels called. 
And thou didst heed their summons, and didst go, 

With loving haste and spirit unappalled. 
Unto the land where fadeless blossoms grow : 

If heaven to thee, there must be song and flowers, 
So loved on earth with all thy yearning powers. 

And oh ! how many good and truthful hearted 

Waited thy coming unto perfect rest. 
Poor, weary traveller, from all toil departed, 
Forever more the Saviour's welcome guest ! 
Forget us not ; but that thou canst not ever, 
Since love like thine and ours endures forever. 



48 POEMS. 



Bloom on, sweet flowers, and deck her lowly pillow 
Wave, summer grasses, o'er her pulseless sleep ; 
Moan on, thou far-off, blue and foaming billow, — 
Help us her holy memory to keep : 

Unto these fair things did her spirit cling ; 
Are they not hers with each diviner thing ? 



WINTER IS KING. 

What a fierce old king is the Winter wild. 

Spreading his ermine o'er hill and mead, 
Touching with purity undefiled 

The old fir-tree and the sapless reed ; 

Crowning the wall where the mosses grew. 
And the vine its garland of fresh leaves threw ! 

When the Summer fled, and the Autumn came. 

Nipping the blossoms one by one, 
Kindling the leaves to the hue of flame, — 
Carnival time, since their task was done, — 
Then from the trees they fell, when, lo ! 
Down from the clouds dropped the fleecy snow. 

It buried each twig in its cold embrace; 

It blotted the paths through the grand old woods ; 
It left on the sea-shore its spotless trace; 
It pierced the depths of earth's solitudes : 

Hushed are the streams in their musical flow. 
While their icy bosoms are veiled in snow. 



''THE BEST OF NOW AND HERE:' 4|> 

The moon rides high through the frosty night ; 
The sun looms low through the pallid skies ; 
The morn comes late with its welcome light ; 
The early eve on the landscape lies ; 

For Winter is king, and he does not sleep 
While down from the northward the wild winds 
sweep. 

Aye, Winter is king ! but a queenly hand 

Shall break the sceptre he royally wields. 
And swift at its bidding a flowery band 

Will gladden the wayside, the woods, and fields. 
We bend in awe to the stern old king. 
But our hearts we yield to the queenly Spring. 



"THE BEST OF NOW AND HERE." 

Take up life's burdens hopefully, cheerfully, 

Thou to whom youth is still fresh in its bloom ; 
Look not before thee dreadingly, tearfully, — 
Spring is no prophet of sadness and gloom : 

Thine is life's springtime; take what God sends thee 
Trustingly, knowing whose right arm defends thee. 

Thou whom the noontide of years is oppressing. 

Bear up thy burden with cheerful content ; 
Look in the present for life's richest blessing, — 
See in earth's changes God's holy intent : 

The ark of the Lord must be safe in thy keeping, 
Borne ever onward with vigils unsleeping. 



50 POEMS. 



Thou from whose spirit life's burdens are falling, 

Travel-worn, weary, and longing for rest, 
Nearing the river no longer appalling. 

Since on the farther side wander the blest, 

Youth, strength, and beauty await thee forever, 
When the frail dust from thy spirit shall sever. 

Ever remember, God knoweth our weakness. 

Tempers our burdens, and measures our woes, 
Bids us the good and the evil, with meekness, 
Both to accept, as his wisdom bestows : 
So in his promise of mercy confiding. 
Wake we or sleep, in his presence abiding. 



TRUST. 



When will the boon for which I daily pray. 
Descend with healing on my troubled way, 
And chase the shadows from my darkened day ? 
In God's good time. 

If I am sinning in my daily prayer. 
If what I ask would prove a curse, a snare, 
When shall the whisper come, " O soul, beware " ? 
In God's good time. 

Till then I battle strong with hope delayed, 
And plead with patience for her potent aid : 
When shall the strife be o'er, the tempest stayed? 
In God's good time. 



EARLY WINTER. 51 



May I be firm to hope, to trust, to wait, 
Earnest but humble at the heavenly gate, 
Through which the good I crave may crown my fate. 
In God's good time. 

And should it come not, should the light of years 
Go out beneath a flood of blinding tears, 
I'll bide the dawn which soon or late appears. 
In God's good time. 



EARLY WINTER. 

The waning year looks gently down 

On these bright days that come and go : 
Dead, faded, buried is the crown 
That Summer wore, with face aglow. 

When June stepped lightly o'er the hills. 
And through the vales sent hastening rills. 

Those blissful days come back to chase 

The gloom from chill December skies ; 
Their fragrance lingers yet to grace 

Paths where all tender blooming dies, — 
Where the brown earth, with tranquil breast. 
Prepares to take its long, deep rest. 

Through naked boughs the sunlight sifts, 
And gives them beauty all their own ; 



52 POEMS. 



Nor yet the feathery snowflake drifts 

Through silent woods, on moss and stone ; 
The hallowed hush, the softened hue, 
Weave their own nameless charm anew. 

The old year wanes ; the birds of spring 

Now gladden other skies than ours : 
No bud unfolds; no insect wing 

Sends tribute to these hastening hours ; 
But plaintive voices stir below 
Their shadowed and unceasing flow. 

Thought wanders back, and grasps anew 

All that earth gave of good and fair, — 
The loves, the hopes that upward grew 
And spread in faith's diviner air, 
But perished as the days went by. 
E'en as the flowers that round us lie. 

We know that spring will come, and bring 
Again earth's meed of song and bloom ; 
We know, too, that another spring 

Hath, somewhere in God's garden, room 
Where love shall find its own, nor miss 
One drop from its pure draught of bliss. 



BREEZE FROM THE SEA. 53 



BREEZE FROM THE SEA. 

With what a gentle ministry thoLi glidest 

Through vine-clad arbors, where the bird hath hung 
Her dainty nest, and where the door, flung widest, 
Woos thee to enter other guests among : 

There falls thy light wing with a silent blessing, 
Welcome as childhood's innocent caressing. 

Breeze from the sea ! the meadow-land rejoices 

W'hen thou dost stay the noontide's burning heat ; 
And from the drooping trees a thousand voices 
Burst into song thy cooling breath to meet ; 

And the parched hills again, in emerald gleaming, 
Lie freshly in the sunlight o'er them streaming. 

We bless thee ! with an inward sense receiving 

Tidings from distant fields of ocean home. 
Where some proud ship, the crested billows cleaving. 
Leaves on its track the roseate blush of morn ; 
And where in Orient groves, 'mid shadows deepest. 
Thou, bird of Eden ! noonday vigil keepest. 

Breeze from the sea ! thy gentle touch awaketh 

Rich strains of music from the spirit lyre ; 
And through the twilight of repose there breaketh 
A softened light from which all clouds retire, — 
An angel guest, unto no banquet pressing. 
But leaving in thy pathway priceless blessing. 



54 POEMS. 



MY BOOKS. 

many a long and weary hour, 
And many a sad, o'erclouded day, 

These have been sunshine, song, and flower, 
And wisdom's guide along my way. 

1 turn to them when hope is faint, 
When earthly aids desert their trust, — 

When the heart seeks, with drear complaint. 
Lost treasures hidden in the dust. 



" How many a tale their silence tells " 
Of gentle hearts long since in dust, 
Of love's glad greetings, sad farewells. 
And much that now wears earthly rust. 

Friends, guides, and comforters, there wells 
Deep in my heart the thanks I pay : 

I yield unto your potent spells 
The homage of my grateful lay. 



DURING THE RAIN. 

How we longed for the rain, the welcome rain. 

That drips from the leaves and baptizes the flowers ; 
That washes the dust from the grass and grain. 
And wearieth not through the long, warm hours, 
But droppeth and droppeth with musical ring 
Upon garden and meadow, on hillside and spring. 



MRS. H. G. OTIS. 55 



How the rivulets swell as they hasten along, 

While the moss on their banks takes the deepest of green ; 
And the birds of the wild-wood repay with a song 
A draught from the fount with the silvery sheen : 
Oh ! the fountains are laughing away in the wild, 
As the rain falls upon them, so pure and so mild. 

The birds are about in their merriest mood, 

But the bee hides his head till the rain is all past ; 
The blossoms that late in their loveliness stood. 
Have earthward their beautiful faces now cast : 

When the warm, summer sun shall caress them again. 
How bright will their bloom be in garden and glen. 

Joy ! joy ! for the down-falling, musical rain ! 

With silent beseeching the earth waited long ; 
And now Nature's voices unite in the strain 

That the echoes take up and with sweetness prolong : 
O say not 'tis mournful and dark in its flow. 
For the world seems new-born in its crystalline glow ! 



MRS. H. G. OTIS. 

Thou wert not less a queen, that on thy brow 

Rested no diadem, nor in thy hand 
A golden sceptre ; but so royal thou. 

None could within thy gracious presence stand 
But own the regal eye, and lip, and voice, — 
Not born to state, but throned by loving choice. 



.56 POEMS. 

And as we lay thy mortal frame in dust, 

We feel that nowhere is thy living peer, — 
So generous, tender, pitiful, and just 

To all who sought thy aid and loving cheer ! 
None from thy presence turned subdued and stil 
But bearing sunshine, solace for each ill. 

Brave heart ! that labored in thy country's need, 

Nor rested till its holy work was done ; 
Upon the scroll of fame thy name we read, 

Pure, bright, revered — thine honors nobly won ! 
No hero's sword, no victor's crown, could be 
So precious as our sorrowing love for thee. 

Farewell ! Thy stately grace, thy soul-lit eye, 

The benediction of thy smile, we miss ; 
Earth is less bright that thou hast passed it by 
To walk the gardens of unshadowed bliss ! 
We utter with a grief no words can tell, — 
And echoes far and wide repeat, — Farewell ! 



ON THE SHORE. 



I come to thee, O sea ! 
From sweetly solemn woods, whose verdant ways, 

Silent, save song of birds or rustling tree. 
Stretch far and wide till lost in dusky maze. 



ON THE SHORE. 57 



There drop the sunbeams through 
The quivering leaves, to rest upon the moss ; 

There part the waving boughs, that heaven's own blue 
May lure to worlds untouched by change or loss. 

No sacred pile upreared 
By mortal hands can waken such high thought 

As do these sylvan temples, grand and weird, 
By the Great Architect in silence wrought. 

They are not left behind 
When thee I seek, ocean that knows no bound, 

But yields its billows to the restless wind, 
Ne'er still or silent in their tireless round ! 

Thy morning splendors shine 
Upon the enraptured sight ; and sunset lays 
Purple and gold upon thy heaving shrine ; 
And stars look down in showers of silver rays. 

And see reflected there 
Their own bright beauty; and the clouds pass o'er, 

Casting their shadows but to make more fair 
The mirror where God's glory shone before. 

Divided homage here 
The true heart pays, for winning voices call 

From woodland depths, and blend with accents near, 
Of sea-birds and the billows' rise and fall. 



58 POEMS. 

k 



O earth ! with riches filled, 
Exhausted never, may we hope to find 

A realm beyond where vain desires are still, 
Because fi'uition waits the enfi-anchised mind. 



A MEMENTO. 



With the hot breath of summer faintly stealing 

O'er the unruffled bosom of the lake, 
With birds now swooping low, now upward wheeling. 
Most prodigal of song for thy dear sake, 

We bore the pain of parting, — thou to cross 
The treacherous sea, and I tp weep thy loss. 

Dost thou remember how the trees bent o'er us. 

Hiding our grief from the all-searching sun ? — 
How one pale, fieecy cloud arose before us, 
Melting away ere half its task was done ? — 
An emblem, thought we, of our present grief, 
Touching life's sunny skies with dimness brief. 

I know thou dost remember, 'mid the glory 

Of the bright present, full of hope and life, 
That old heart-grief — that oft-repeated story 
Of love and duty holding dubious strife ; 
And when the lilies on its bosom wake. 
Again we will repose by that fair lake. 



OUR TREASURE. 59 



OUR TREASURE. 

1 have roses all the year, — I have roses all the year, 
And they bloom upon my darling's cheek of snow : 

No matter what the storm is, I have sunshine bright and 
clear 
In the blue eyes ever lighted with love's glow ! 

The winter bringeth silence when the birds and bees are 
still, 

But her laughter and her warbling make amends ; 
And I never miss the song of the breezes and the rill. 

While her step upon my daily path attends. 

She is more than sun and shower, she is more than bird 
and bee, 

She is brighter than the blossoms to my eye. 
And holier than the moonlight, and nobler than the sea, 

Or the stars that nightly bless us from on high 1 

For oh ! she loves us dearly, and her little winsome 
speech. 
In tones of melting tenderness, we treasure : 
We learn so much of wisdom when we fain would stoop to 
teach, 
Our hearts o'erflow with deep and holy pleasure. 

Think not we love the casket, nor prize the gem within. 
For the soul is chiefly worthy of our care ; 

And we strive to keep its whiteness from every taint of sin, 
And we hallow all our doting with a prayer. 



60 POEMS. 



How many homes are lighted by a fairy dear as ours, 
For no shadow can withstand them in their glee ; 

And among God's precious gifts, for the children and the 
flowers. 
Let his praises fill the land from sea to sea ! 



SONG. 

I do not know why bird and flower 
Awake so keen a sense of gladness ; 

And yet how strangely linked their power 
To a deep undertone of sadness 1 

My heart, like any child's, goes leaping 
When first the young leaves dance in air,- 

But pauses in its rapture, weeping 

Dead hopes once blooming strangely fair. 

And ever thus are blending, twining, 
Brightness and shadow, joy and grief ! 

Cease, restless soul, thy vain repining ; 
Though sharp, the struggle is but brief! 

And do not strive to drown the voices 
Far down in solemn silence heard ; 

But welcome, while thy soul rejoices, 
The hum of bee, the song of bird. 



FRAIL LOVELINESS. 61 

Wouldst thou forget fond hopes, though perished ? — 
Soft eyes long veiled in starless night ? 

Oh, no ! the treasures once we cherished, 
Though gone, have left their boon of light ! 



FRAIL LOVELINESS. 

O scatter not your leaves 
So lavishly upon the thankless earth. 

Bright flowers ! sweet flowers ! My spirit inly grieves 
That swift decay so waits upon your birth ! 

Ye do but look to heaven 
A few bright hours, and your rich fragrance shed 

Upon the dewy wings of tranquil even, — 
And glowing morn succeeds, and ye are dead ! 

For you we hail the showers. 
Whose gentle baptism like a blessing falls 

Upon your peerless beauty ! Summer flowers. 
Through you how strong the voice of Nature calls ! 

It bids us leave the room 
Darkened by many shadows, some of care. 

And some that memory deepens into gloom, 
And wander forth where all is calm and fair. 



62 POEMS. 



It woos us to the sea, 
Whose cooling breath has swept o'er many a wave 
And unto mountain heights, where bird and bee 
Never the tempest nor the silence brave. 

Through woodpaths fringed by you, 
Children of light and warmth ! it bids us tread, 

And list the song of birds, forever new, 
'Mid the green branches like a dome outspread. 

But ye, whose hour is brief, 
Yet all-sufficient for your blissful need, 

Teach us, with every falling bud and leaf. 
To lean henceforth upon the truthful reed ! 



C. A. W. 

Sadly our task has ended : all the care, 

The loving care, has ended in the grave. 
Our days were one long breathing of a prayer 
That He who granted would our treasure save. 
Our prayers are ended, for his pains are o'er ; 
He sleeps, — no, wakes, and triumphs evermore. 



VIS:ON BRIGHT. 
O vision bright, that yesternight 

Looked through the twilight gloom on me, 
Turn hither now thine eyes of light, 
Thy star-crowned brow, so broad and white, 
Thy smile, so heavenly sweet to see ! 



MIDSUMMER. 63 



Whisper some word through silence heard, 
To make my spirit strong as thine ; 

To love, to trust through hope deferred. 
To feel, when all its depths are stirred, 
The presence of a power divine ! 

And should I stray from light away, 
Still guide me, though I see thee not, 
And lay thy hand on mine, and say. 
Softly, " Lo ! heavenward breaks the day 
Turn, lest thy shadow dim thy lot! " 

And when my soul no more its goal 

Can see, through mists and blinding tears, 
Oh ! then thy brightest page unroll, 
And read me from the sacred scroll 
The coming bliss of golden years ! 



MIDSUMMER. 



It is the time of bloom. Wild roses lean 

From out the hedges, and the roadsides glow 

With daisies and red clover, and we glean 
Lilies of scarlet that beside them grow. 

Out from the crevices of rocks there spring 
The columbines, that nod in every breeze, 

Which the bee seeks upon its busy wing. 

And pauses on their treasured sweets to seize. 



64 POEMS. 



Upon the sluggish stream white lilies rest ; 

Along its banks the purple flowers unfold ; 
The sweet clematis rears its dainty crest 

Among the stones o'ergrown by mosses old. 

On mountain-sides hang out the fairy bells ; 

The seashore shows its pimpernel with pride ; 
And every sheltered nook in perfume tells 

That summer reigns, and earth is glorified ! 

How He who made, must love the flowers we see ; 

For, through these bright and fast-departing days. 
They meet us whereso'er our footsteps flee, 

Lured by the sunshine through earth's pleasant ways. 



TO A. B. 



'Tis long since thou and I 
Trod the lone beach, and murmuring voices heard 
Of many waters 'neath the springtime sky, 

While all around us stirred 
The southern breeze, and the wild seabird's wing 
Cleft the blue air in its glad journeying. 

That sea, and sky, and bird. 
That low, suggestive music of the breeze. 
The thoughts too secret for the spoken word, — 

Dost thou remember these. 
And more, O faithful friend of vanished years. 
Whose patli, like mine, hath watered been by tears ? 



TWILIGHT HOURS. 65 

And let us once again, 
When wakes the spring with leaves and opening liow^ers, 
Forsaking hill, and mead, and shadowy glen, 

Pass a few sunny hours 
In the old trysting-place beside the sea. 
Which memory consecrates with thoughts of thee. 

Come as thou didst of old, 
With voice that thrilled me, and with beaming eye. 
That half the utterance of thy spirit told, — 

With thoughts that deepest lie. 
And laughter that rings out like wild-bird's note. 
And prove the blissful dreams that round me float. 



TWILIGHT HOURS. 

'Tis sunset-time, when all is still. 
Save breezes whispering from the hill. 
And the lone hum of insect life, 
Wherewith this welcome hour is rife. 
Like dream too fair for longer stay 
The light and glor)^ fade away. 

The vesper notes of many a bird 

From out the darkling woods are heard ; 

And the near river's rippling flow 

Blends with the songs that come and go 

In the hushed air, so clear, so bright. 

Scarce touched with shades of coming night. 



66 POEMS. 



The busy, changeful world of care 
Seems lost in this diviner air : 
And while hope slumbers, memor}- lives. 
And from its choicest treasure gives ; 
And grief is soothed as falls the calm 
Of twilight peace, like heavenly balm. 

O precious boon that comes to all, 
God's blessing at the daylight's fall I 
Rich recompense for wear}- hours, 
Renewal sweet of wasted powers. 
We lay upon thy shrine the meed 
Of hearts that love, of souls that need ! 



PRAYER FOR RAIN. 

Rain, rain I the meadow-lands are all athirst ; 

The leaves grow crisp upon the forest-trees ; 
The flow'ers that spring's abundant moisture nursed 

Yield no more fragrance to the passing breeze — 
They have all bowed their heads like things accursed 

And when shall fresher ones succeed to these ? 

Along the bed of the once rushing brook 
We seek in vain to trace its sparkling tide ; 

And far away in some old shady nook, 

Where late its cr}-stal drops it loved to hide. 

The clustering branches bend, and vainly look 
For the lost jewels, once the woodland pride I 



THE BETTER LAND. 67 

Clouds rise and float across the azure main, 
The thunder sends its greeting o'er the hills, 

But the soft-fallino; and refreshino^ rain 

No more the parching earth with gladness fills ; 

And the sere upland, with the barren plain 
Unheeded supplicate the vanished rills. 

God of the storm and the reviving shower. 
Look Thou in mercy on our sorest need I 

Let not the harvest fail, since Thine the power 
To fill the reaper's hand with priceless meed : 

We look to Thee in this o'ershadowed hour, 
For blessings which alone from Thee proceed ! 



THE BETTER LAND. 

O world that lies afar, 
Of which we know so little, dream so much, 
That needeth for its glory sun nor star. 

Nor the soft summer wind's reviving touch, 

Where art thou ? for in vain through depths of blue 
We seek the shores concealed from mortal view. 

Where art thou ? yearningly we ask of Night, 

With all her glittering throng, her silence deep ! 
Where art thou ? thrills the heart when Morning's light 
Calls with her gladsome cheer the earth from sleep ! 
Where art thou ? trembles on the lip when day 
With golden pinions sweeps all shades away I 



68 POEMS. 



Hast thou fair flowers, and birds, and singing brooks. 

And hills with verdure crowned, and cool, dim vales, 
And fountains springing in green, sheltered nooks, 
And the low music of spice-scented gales ? 

Or are these all of earth, while thou art fraught 
With glories reaching far beyond our thought ? 

Doth beauty deck each brow with fadeless charms, 

And no deep sigh betray unanswered prayers ? 
Doth danger fill no breast with wild alarms. 

And no eye fill with tears, no breast with cares ? 
No answer floats o'er those cerulean seas. 
Bearing from those far realms the mystic keys. 

Where art thou ? — for oitr own beloved were led 

Along the unseen way to rest in Thee ! 
They live and love, — we will not call them dead, — 
Though never more on earth their forms we see. 
O grant one ray our lonely paths to cheer. 
And show the heaven we feel, but see not near ! 



THE GIFT OF FLOWERS. 

O lay not idly by 
The flowers I gathered for thee, wet with dew ; 

They speak of night's cool sky. 
Of crimson morn, and noontide's heavenly blue. 



A CALM DAY. 69 



With this bright, blushing rose, 
These fragrant violets, lilies, drooping bells, 

With all that gaily grows 
Beneath my lattice, love its yearning tells. 

O could I send with these 
The faint, sweet music of the wandering wind, 

The humming of the bees. 
The bird's exultant song with all entwined, 

The welcome showers that fall. 
Searching the flower-cells, nestling in the grass. 

Shadows that sweep o'er all, 
Touching so lightly as they onward pass, — 

All these, beloved, all these 
I fain about my flower-gift would entwine ! 

Take thou the song, the breeze, 
The bloom, the fragrance of a heart all thine. 



A CALM DAY. 



The wind no longer sweeps the trees, — 
A mist has settled far and wide ; 

And through its veil the sunlight sees 
No shadows down the mountain glide 



70 POEMS. 



The river through the valley flows, 

But lends no music to the air 
That seems to share the deep repose 

Which crowns these Sabbath hours so fair 

From out the clustering trees there floats, 
Now here, now there, the wild bird's lay ; 

And the warm, silent air receives 
The untaught worship that they pay. 

Calm day, farewell ! From off the hill, 
From out the valley, pass thy wings, 

That o'er the hours have brooded still 
Where now the fading glory clings. 

In the far city's busy mart, 

Down by the borders of the sea, 

'Mid other changing scenes, my heart, 
O day of peace ! will turn to thee. 



TO E. A. B. L. 



Dear friend, who through these changing years 

Hast kept thy love and truth unchanged. 
Whom time nor absence less endears, 

Whom joy, grief, space, has ne'er estranged, 
My love is deeper, holier, now 
Than when youth shone from age and brow. 



OUR INDIAN SUMMER. 71 



I see, long past, wife, mother, friend, 
Life's sun unclouded day by day ; 
And then those darker hours, which send 

Such shadows as ne'er pass away ! 

But oh ! the growth in those dim hours 
Proved in thy heart celestial flowers. 

No doubt, no bitterness were thine, 

Though wounded oft, and sore oppressed: 
Thy soul, suffused with hopes divine, 
Sought not in vain its ark of rest ; 

And the rough path thy feet have trod 
Hath led thee only nearer God 

For this I prize the wreath of tlowers 

Culled from thy heart to gladden mine ; 
For this I send in spring's young hours 
Warm greetings, true and deep as thine ; 
And on thy steadfast heart I lean, 
Alike through storms and skies serene. 



OUR INDIAN SUMMER. 

The very breezes dreamily do rest 

From their wild havoc with the changing leaves : 
The bird that doth not yet forsake its nest. 

Sings where so lately stood the ripened sheaves. 



POEMS. 



Upon the hills and down the valley lies 

A golden haze through which the old woods gleam, 
Decked in their autumn robes of countless dyes, 

Which the veiled sun salutes with tempered beam. 

The very streams go glittering o'er their beds, 
As if they, too, were captive to the spell 

That all around a soothing influence sheds. 
And whisper of some far-off, quiet dell, 

Where their clear writers, darkened by the shade 
Of many dancing leaves through summer days, 

Sang to the balmy winds that thither strayed, 
And heard the burden of their changeful lays. 

O blessed days ! the last till spring returns. 

When hills and woods send voices to the heart ! 

Ye are fair jewels which the summer spurns 
When gathering up her treasures to depart. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

When, at thy bidding, through the vale 

Our weary and unwilling feet 
Walk where the sunbeams glimmer pale, 
And flowers seem neither fair nor sweet, 
O Father ! help us bear the loss, 
The crown of thorns, the o'erburdening cross. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 73 

For sometimes all of this seems laid 
Upon the feeble, trembling heart : 
Amid the gloom the eye is stayed, 
Nor sees the clouds in mercy part, 

That hope may send its cheering light 
Upon the spirit's rayless night. 

But when the clouds are rolled away. 
And over all God's smile is spread, 
May grateful hearts their homage pay 
To Him from whom alone is shed 
All blessings that our lives endear, 
All hopes that bloom and crown the year. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 

The wind that comes up from the sea is bold. 

And it riots about my door, 

And shakes my windows with fingers cold. 
And repeats a tale that I heard of old 

Far down on the wave-beat shore ! 

It shrieks like a soul that has lost its way, — 

Like a sad, sad heart it sighs ; 

It whispers, as if it would fain betray 

What the waves in their wild commotion say 

To the black and threatening skies ! 



POEMS. 



So I lie and listen with half-hushed breath 
To the wind from the rocky coast ; 

And I heed what its piteous moaning saith 
Of measureless halls where the spectre, Death, 
Hath treasures no being can boast 

And it moans and shrieks through the long, long night, 

Till my heart and brain grow wild 

With its wordless burden of gloom and blight 
Brought up from the sea, on its wings of night, 

To my couch of sleep beguiled. 

Afar from my dwelling be thou, O Wind! 
O Wind of the wintry sea ! 

There are those long mourned in my heart en- 
shrined, — 
Lost voices there are with thine own entwined ; 
Canst gather them back for me ? 



AUTUMN HOURS. 

Days of the dying year. 
Ye have rare beauty in your paler sun 

And kindling leaf that falls on mosses sere. 
Noiselessly dropping with your mission done. 

Only the later bird 
Winnows the air, neglectful of its song. 

Dropping amid the branches all unheard. 
Or through deserted pathways hops along. 



THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN. 75 

Not weary yet for rest, 
For its long winter sleep, the squirrel springs 

From trunk to swaying branch, in pleasant quest 
Of its late harvest where the nut still clings. 

And the white frost comes down 
Through the chill air, and clothes the yet green grass 

With a weird mantle, till the glowing crown 
Of the uprisen sun bids the frail beauty pass. 

The air takes on its tone 
Of mingled grief and sweetness, as if now 

Above dead flowers the field is all its own. 
From the far hillside to dismantled bough. 

Oh, linger yet awhile 
With sweet remembrances, with chastened light. 

While thought can bask in Summer's genial smile, 
Nor fold its wings like flowers at coming blight. 



THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN. 

No sickness there, — 
No weary wasting of the frame away. 

No fearful shrinking from the midnight air, 
No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray ! 



76 POEMS. 



No hidden grief, 
No wild and cheerless vision of despair, 

No vain petitions for a swift relief, 
No tearful eyes,' no broken hearts are there ! 

Care has no home 
Within the realm of ceaseless prayer and song ! 

Its billows break and melt away in foam 
Far from the mansions of the spirit throng ! 

The storm's black wing 
Is never spread athwart celestial skies ! 

It's wailings blend not with the voice of spring, 
As some too tender floweret fades and dies ! 

No night distils 
Its chilling dews upon the tender frame ; 

No moon is needed there ! The light which fills 
That land of glory from its Maker came ! 

No parted friends 
O'er mournful recollections have to weep ! 
No bed of death enduring love attends. 
To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep ! 

No blasted flower 
Or withered bud celestial gardens know ! 

No scorching blast or fierce-descending shower 
Scatters destruction like a ruthless foe ! 



SUMMER IS DEAD. 77 

No battle-word 
Startles the sacred host with fear and dread ! 

The song of peace creation's morning heard, 
Is sung wherever angel minstrels tread ! 

Let us depart, 
If home like this await the weary soul ! 

Look up, thou stricken one ! Thy wounded heart 
Shall bleed no more at sorrow's stern control ! 

With Faith our guide, 
White-robed and innocent, to lead the way, 

Why fear to plunge in Jordan's rolling tide, 
And find the ocean of eternal day ? 



SUMMER IS DEAD. 

Hush ! tell it not to the flowers and trees. 
Whisper it not to the birds and the breeze ; 
Let not the blossoms of crimson and blue 
Hear the sad tale, though its burden be true ! 
Summer is dead ! 

Hush ! for the sea hath suspended its breath. 
Fearing to catch the first summons of death ; 
And the bright clouds that are passing away 
Fain must drop tears could they hear what you say 
Summer is dead ! 



78 POEMS. 



Aye ! though her mantle of glory is still 
Spread over garden, and meadow, and hill. 
Though the rich bloom hath no touch of decay. 
And the bee toils through the long, sunny day, 
Summer is dead ! 

Aye ! it is ended ! From forest and glen, 
From cities alive with the conflict of men. 
From the grass at our feet, from the now silent bird. 
From earth, sea, and sky, in our spirits is heard. 
Summer is dead ! 

So much of her glory and gladness is left, 
We sigh not as those of her presence bereft ; 
Her crown and her garlands unfaded are hung 
Where they dropped when aside they were carelessly flung 
Summer is dead ! 



THE LAST ROSE. 

More beautiful than all that went before. 

The sweetest and the last ! 
The breeze the burden of thy perfume bore, 

And, as it floated past, 
Our sighs went with it, and a sad " No more 

To the same breeze was cast. 

Not beauty's cheek a softer shading wears 
Than on thy petals lay ; 



REV. E. S. GANNETT, D.D. 79 

The dewdrops kissed them, and the morning airs 

Paused with their sweets to play ; 
But the green stem forgot its gentle cares, 

And left thee with decay ! 

Another June will bring another race, 

As lovely and as frail, 
To "blush at their own beauty," and all trace 

Of those we mourn will fail ; — 
They will have sunk into the earth's embrace, 

Lost to the balmy gale. 

And not unwept are they while dewdrops fall 

Through the clear, starry night ; 
And not unhonored while the solemn pall 

Of darkness veils the light ; 
And for a requiem through Death's silent hall, 

The birds and winds unite. 



REV. E. S. GANNETT, D.D. 

Loz'ed, Honored, Latnefited. 

May I not lay one flower upon thy bier. 

Servant of God, and follower of his Son ? 
Nobly and faithfully thy task-work here. 
In youth's abounding promise well begun, 
Unto the end performed with tireless zeal. 
Proved that thy mission bore the sacred seal. 



80 POEMS. 



Into the Holy of all Holies soared 

Thy soul in prayer! Uplifted on its wings, 
Spirits that with thine own made sweet accord, 
Stood in the presence of the King of kings ! 
Where shall we list for such a voice as thine ? 
A harp so eloquent with power divine ! 

Farewell ! more prized than our weak words can tell, 

And reverenced for thy near approach to Him 
Whom thou didst love so tenderly and well, 
And follow through all paths, however dim. 
So that his gracious feet before thee pressed 
And led the way, whose end was perfect rest. 

Servant of God, sleep in thy hallowed bed. 

Leaving behind a record pure as light ; 
What thrilling memories crown thine honored head, 
Soldier undaunted in the field of right ! 

Thank God! thou art with Him, thy task-work o'er, 
The palm of victory thine forevermore ! 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 

The soft, red light fell on the snow. 
While in the east the silver bow 
Hung o'er the purpling waves aglow: 



UNKNOWN. 81 



Above her bended horns, yet near, 
Shone Venus, large, and round, and clear. 
While other stars withdrew their cheer. 

The skies above were deeply blue. 
But wore their richest crimson hue 
Near where the waters veiled their view. 

No breeze awoke. God's temple stood 
Filled with his presence, wise and good : 
Filled, till was left no solitude. 

O hallowed hour ! thy memory sweet 
Gives strength unto our weary feet, — 
Gives radiance where life's shadows meet. 



UNKNOWN. 



O what can be the glory of that land 

That lies beyond our ken, 
By poet and by prophet-vision scanned, 

But baffling word and pen, — 

Since here, within these long, perfected days. 

Which grace and beauty fill. 
Such clouds melt slowly to the sun's warm rays, 

Such shadows clothe each hill ? 

How can we picture aught beyond more fair, — 

The fragrant breath of pine. 
Incense from flowers that wave in summer air. 

Lakes burdened with white lilies, half divine ! 



g2 POEMS. 

Can there be other, grander skies unseen ? 

Shall there be no more sea, 
With its wild sweep of waves, its changeful sheen, 

And strange, weird melody? 

Could we but break the silence, and unveil 

The world that lies so near, 
Would not the present prove a weary tale 

We would not pause to hear ? 

Aye, it is best ; but still the asking soul 

Would fain send buoyant wings 
To know what death and change unroll, 

And whence such glory springs ! 

The very breezes murmur of some home, 

Curtained from mortal view, 
And round our pleasant summer dwelling roam, 

Our longings to renew ! 



SONNET. 

" I go to prepare a place for you." 

Hast thou a place prepared for me, dear Lord, 
In thy great Father's kingdom ? Some fair isle 

Circled by life's pure stream, by angel ward 

Kept from all trespass, where soft sounds beguile 



SONNET. 83 



The weary-hearted to their needful rest ? 

Or is it nearer to the burning throne, 
Where the Almighty sits amid the bless 'd, 

Reading all hearts, himself unread, unknown ? 
Or must my sin-scarred soul contented be 

Far off, yet catching glimpses of his face ? 

Dear Saviour, whereso'er thou shalt find place. 
And with thy presence wilt o'ershadow me, 

There will I cast my heavy griefs aside. 

And be content forever to abide ! 



SONNET. 

A REMINISCENCE. 

A bit of nature in a city's bound, — 

Paths with the needles of the pine o'erlaid. 
Deep shade and singing bird, and, scattered round, 

Such flowers as Nature's loneliest nooks invade, 
With their beseeching loveliness. And, dropped adown 

Amid this wildwood beauty, slept a lake, — 
An opal set in shadow, with a crown 

Of drooping willows, where the breezes wake 
Their most melodious whisperings, till are won 

The pure, white lilies from their darksome bed, 
To ope their odorous bosoms to the sun. 

On the still surface of the waters spread 
Thus Nature, all encompassed, kept apart 
With woods, lake, music, in the city's heart. 



84 POEMS. 



SONNET. 



O how I miss thy loving, gracious face, 

Through the long passage of this starless eve ! 
Into my heart I gaze, and fondly trace 

Thy dear resemblance, nor the picture leave 
Till, like a spiritual presence, seems 

Thy lifelike image graven on my heart ! 
Then float around me Hope's bewitching dreams. 

Clothing the hours with smiles as they depart ; 
And Memory brings her tribute, wreathed with flowers, — 

Love's own creations, sparkling with its light. 
But tell me, 'mid the world's contending powers 

Is there one quiet spot, one altar bright. 

Which thou dost keep for me ? It must be so. 
For closer to my heart thy faithful one doth grow ! 



SONNET. 



Lead me no farther in the flowery way 

My feet have trodden, than shall seem to Thee 
Best for my wayward spirit, lest I may 

Presumptuous grow, and vainly hope to be 
Basking in sunshine ever, with the song, 

The bloom, and perfume of the glorious earth 
My blissful heritage. To these belong 
But for a brief, brief season, the great throng 

Of hopes, and fears, and longings that have birth 



AT EVENTIDE. 85 



In the soul's silent depths. Beyond the sun 
And stars, the ebb and flow of ocean's tide, 

Beyond the rain of tears, my journey done, 

With naught of life's sweet memories laid aside, 
Guide me still onward till with Thee I bide. 



AT EVENTIDE. 



There is no solitude like this. The beach, 

Stretching afar, lapped by the sluggish wave, 
Is silent, save the murmurous tones 'that reach 
The listening ear, soft, musical, and grave ; — 
Tones that the winds take up and bear along. 
Mingling their sweetness with the land-bird's song. 

The sea-bird on its lagging wing doth call 

Its wandering mate to track the shining sand : 
No other voice save the hushed winds doth fall 
Upon the soothing silence ; cool and bland 

The zephyrs come, sweeping old ocean's breast. 
Charming to peace its bosom of unrest. 

As thus the waters sleep 'neath tender skies, 

That bathe them in their own celestial hue. 
Let their calm influence still the storms that rise 
In the o'erburdened heart, and plant anew 

Undying hope, and strength, and patience still 
To grasp the good, or bide the coming ill. 



86 POEMS. 



For He who slumbers not, but keeps alway 

His watch o'er ocean deeps, their ebb and flow, 
Seeth the surging tides that, day by day. 

Through human hearts forever come and go : 
His, his alone the plummet that can sound 
The depths of both, — dark, restless, and profound. 



THE WIDOWED HEART. 

Since thou didst go beyond my mortal way. 
Nor moon, nor stars, nor golden midday sun. 

Nor Summer's verdure, nor her blossoms gay, 
Enchant my heart as when our paths were one. 

The brightness from thy soul shone full on mine, 
And left no dark, though earthly light was dim : 

I walked in peaceful gladness, hope divine, 
With my large cup full, trembling to the brim. 

Oh ! how the gloom has gathered since the night 
When thou didst lay thine earthly garb aside. 

To walk with angels through their realms of light, 
And share thy rapture with the glorified ! 

The sweetness of the springtime bloom is faint ; 

Birds sing not blithely, as in days of old ; 
The sea has only sadness in its plaint 

Where once in triumph as in song it rolled. 



FROST- WORK. 87 



O eyes that see through mists, but still see God ; 

O ears that hear the sigh amid the praise ; 
O feet that long a lonely path have trod, — 

There's solace for all griefs in heaven's calm days. 

A little longer and the shadows creep ; 

A little longer list the minor strain ; 
A sleep — a wakening — and the shadows sweep 

Forever backward o'er the eternal main. 



FROST-WORK. 



I love the naked trees, that toss 

Their branches in the cold, clear air. 

And fling their shadows wide across 
Meadow and garden, sere and bare. 

Another beauty now is theirs 

Than that which gladdened summer skies ; 
They feel the breath of wintry airs. 

At whose chill touch all verdure dies. 

Down through the moss that drapes their feet, 
Now sleep the flowers, awaiting spring ; 

And the hushed streams no more repeat 
Their songs to birds on flashing wing. 



S8 POEMS. 



The rustling of the thick green leaves 
Passed with the autumn's waning days : 

Now the bleak wind unheeded grieves 
Along the old-time's pleasant ways. 

Bird, insect, flower, and babbling brook, — 
Ye are not ! but these bare, brown trees 

Have their own page in Nature's book, 
And their own charm to him who sees. 

The sun gives of its fiery glow; 

The stars look down from their far heights ; 
And 'mid their boughs, on spotless snow, 

The moonbeams fall through silent nights. 

How beautiful God's hand hath made 
The world, the seasons in their round ; 

They bud and blossom, ripen, fade. 
All in their radiant circle crowned. 



ADJURATION. 



Come to me, come ! My spirit longs to know 

If thou art faithful still, — 
If time hath passed thee in its turbid flow, 
And left thy gentle will 
Moving as calmly onward to its goal. 
As if temptation bowed to thy control ! 



A SUMMER REVERIE. 39 



Come to me, come ! for long have I sustained 

Life's weary toil alone, 
And felt, by hope deferred, my spirit pained, 
And waited for the tone 
Which made thy slightest word a treasured thing, 
And now I pine like bird with broken wing ! 

Come to me, come ! Such partings are like death. 

And make the heart an urn 
For buried hopes, o'er which but memory's breath 
Whispers of love's return ! 
Come to me, come ! for thou, too, art a prey 
Unto this wasting of the heart away ! 



A SUMMER REVERIE. 

Not Persia's fields of roses could exhale 
A richer perfume than is wafted through 

My open casements. The wide field is shorn 
Of its light raiment, ruffled by each gale 

That through the summer heaven's serenest blue 

Bore the red heralds of approaching morn. 
Or bent its wing o'erburdened with the dew ! 

The air is faint with sweetness ! Soul and sense 
Yield to the soft enchantment, and do feel 
The blessedness of living, bent to share 
In Nature's lavish gifts. No vain pretence 
Marks her abundant wealth ; no royal seal 

Doth she affix to what is rich and rare. 
But welcomes all before her shrines who kneel. 



90 POEMS. 



Vain pomp and fashion, and the lore of books, 
We can dispense with you, so rich are we 

In birds, and flowers, and breath of new-mown hay, 
And the low lullaby of lagging brooks. 
That seem so loth to meet the far-off sea. 

O blissful hours, that glide in light away. 
Your chains are rose-wreaths ! and who would be free ? 



"HE LEADETH ME BESIDE THE STILL WATERS." 

By the still waters lead me, for I thirst, 

And my o'erheated brow I fain would lave ; 
And oh ! permit me, Holy Shepherd, first 
To see thy face reflected from the wave 

Beside mine own, that so my soul may know 
These are the sources whence all healings flow. 

By the still waters lead me ! I am faint 

With my long journeying through the desert way. 
And my white robes have caught an earthly taint 
I fain would hide from the revealing day ; 

But thou, O Saviour ! canst these stains efface 
In those pure waters where no taint hath place ! 

By the still waters lead me ! I have trod 

A way both dark and rough, with sorrows strewn ; 
And to my spirit's depths have felt the rod. 

Nor failed to bless the hand no more unknown ; 
But now I faint and tire, and long to be 
By the still waters, and at rest with thee. 



RE TROSPE C TION, 9 1 



By the still waters I But God's will be done ! 

I would not cast the burden he has laid 
On heart and flesh, lest, ere my race be' run, 
I might forget whereon my hope is stayed. 

Dear Saviour, guide, control me, till I stand 
By those still waters in thine own bright land. 



RETROSPECTION. 



Have we not all some Zion to remember 
In the glad past, now fading day by day ? 

Some hallowed time that knew no bleak December, 
When leaves, buds, flowers, ne'er hastened to decay? 

As we glance backward, not a cloud now lingers 
Above that restful, deep content and joy; 

And o'er the scene Time's ever-busy fingers 
Can weave no change, nor fleck it with alloy. 

The flowers seemed fairer than the flowers now springing 
Beside our roughened paths. The skies wore then 

Such hues as now no summer skies are bringing 
To eyes that ne'er such light may see again. 

The birds were waifs from Paradise, down-sweeping, 
Laden with pearls of song ; but now we hear 

Those songs at times heavy with mortal weeping. 
And strive in vain to catch the old-time cheer. 

O memories of the past, abide and bless us. 

Though wanderers from the Zion loved of yore ! 

Sometimes let airs from your far fields caress us, 
Until we need your healing balm no more. 



92 POEMS. 



OUR SPRING. 

The trees are shaking out their light-green leaves ; 

The grass its tender hue 
Wears 'neath the changing skies, and nature weaves 

Its spell, all bloom and fragrance to renew. 

The lilac swings its purple treasures fair. 

Like clusters of the grape ; 
Wistaria hangs its pendent bloom in air, 

And its long vines the wall and trellis drape. 

White lilies fling their incense far and wide, 

Fresh as the breath of morn ; 
And lilies-of-the-valley bloom beside 

The myrtle and the violet newly born. 

Bright buttercups are sprinkled o'er the grass, 

And the great, yellow bees 
Hum, as from cup to cup they gayly pass, 

Drinking their nectar in luxurious ease. 

The oriole and the linnet swing aloft, 

And the lithe vireo darts 
Through half-clad branches, and the sparrow oft 

Trills forth his lay to gladden waiting hearts. 

The robins, whom all love, now move with pride 

O'er the just verdant mead. 
Then mount to the tall elm, and pour a tide 

Full, strong, and clear, that all who hear must heed. 



A MEMORY. 



Only the loving heart, the heedful eye, 

Can read thy page aright, 
O spring, that glidest all too quickly by, 

To lose thyself 'mid summer's roses bright ! 



A MEMORY. 



A mountain spring round which we stood, 

Marking its bubbling, silvery tide, 
While near it ranged the shadowy wood, 

In whose cool depths the song-birds hide — 
Naught else but murmurings of the breeze, 
Blent with the rustlinof of the trees. 



"■is 



Still, save the gurgling of the stream. 
That from its hidden fountain sped 
Adown a rocky path to gleam, 

And lave the valley's verdant bed, — 
A thread of silver woven through 
The moss that by its largess grew. 

Dost ever rest? When stars look down 
From fields of clear, transparent blue, 
Or when the tempest's awful frown 
Changes thy smile to its dark hue, 

Dost thou still spend thy wealth as now. 
Laving the mountain's rugged brow ? 



94 POEMS, 



We stoop and drink ; O draught most blest, 

Cooling the fevered heart and brain ! 
How fast the troubled world's unrest 
Loses the terror of its reign, 

While here, in nature's calm retreat, 
We stay our weary, wandering feet ! 

But other days, and other springs. 

Flowing in beauty from the rock. 
While o'er them fluttered radiant wings 
That nevermore our fancies mock, — 
From memory's haze these visions rise, 
Adding fresh glow to sunset skies. 



SEA-BREEZES. 



How welcome is thy breath among these woods, 

Wind from the east ! that many a weary mile 

Hast come from where the sea, in varying moods, 

Stretches afar, — now dimpling with a smile. 

Now frowning 'neath the clouds low-hung and dark, 
While the wild winds encircle some lone bark. 

But now thy wing is soft, and lightly plays 

With fluttering aspen and with sturdy oak. 
And bends the queenly elm, the beech-tree sways. 
As if all life to graceful motion woke ; 

And still thy whispering tells of untrod plains, 
Where silence, save of restless waters, reigns. 



J/K MINSTREL 95 



What saw'st thou on thy wondrous flight afar, 

Wind of the East, whose trackless path no eye 
Save His who marks each radiant sun and star 
Move on their lofty errands through the sky ? 

Saw'st thou sails shivering, and the foaming wave, 
Mad the frail ark of human hopes to lave? 

Borne by thy breath, these wild waves reach the shore, 

But thou pursuest thine appointed way, 
Blessing the meadows green, the mountains hoar. 
Kissing the flowers that grace the summer day, 
Still passing onward, as if still in quest 
Of some far, restful chamber in the west. 

And so we bless thee, herald of the sea ! 

Thy cool wing burdened, — not with breath of flowers. 
But bearing its own largess full and free. 

To greet glad sunshine, bloom, and falling showers 
Amid the haunts of men, the vales, the woods. 
Where the birds thread the leafy solitudes. 



MY MINSTREL. 



I sit and marvel, when thy fingers play 

Along the ivory keys, if they in heaven* 
Who loved thy strains so well do hither stray, 
And list, amid the purpling hues of even, 
To the sweet airs — -the old familiar lays — 
That filled with brightness unforgotten days. 



96 POEMS. 



What language music hath ! Sometimes are heard, 

Amid its sweetness, wailing tones of grief, — 
Of longings in the inmost spirit stirred, — 
That find 'mid earthly treasures no relief; 
And then do happiness and calm content 
Flow out upon their grateful mission bent. 

The unseen world seems nearer, lovelier, far. 

When its own language so pervades the soul. 
And all that doth our earthly Eden mar 
Passes away beneath its charmed control : 
We live in a serene, exalted air. 
That hath no touch of weariness or care. 

Thanks to the minstrel, and the minstrel's God, 
That o'er our paths, so mixed of good and ill, 
There still is granted the enchanter's rod. 
The cup of life with ecstasy to fill, 

And give to drooping hope its radiant wings, 
To mount above, beyond, earth's turbid springs. 

Thus, while thy fingers toy among the keys, 

I traverse earth's fair places, — hear the song 
Of summer birds, the voice of summer seas. 

Whose waves make music the green shore along ; 
And all of light, love, beauty, at thy call 
In a blest harmony around me fall. 



OUR MOCKING-BIRD. 97 



OUR MOCKING-BIRD. 

Amid the gloom he blithely sings : 

The darkening heavens, the falling snow, 
The wintry blast, no respite brings ; 
And, like a streamlet's changeful flow, 
He pours a varied flood of song, 
Now low and soft, now loud and strong. 

Who taught his little throat the art 

To mock each tuneful, wandering bird. 
And, here, in silence and apart. 

To conjure up each strain once heard. 
And to repeat it lovelier still 
Than when the greenwoods caught its trill ? 

Now clear and loud, like the thrush who calls 

From hill and dale, with clarion note ; 
Now soft, as when at twilight falls 
The vesper song from fields remote 
In the broad azure, stretching wide 
Above man's realms of power and pride ! 



For his own pleasure ! careless he 

Who lists his full, exultant strain, 
But sits and pours it forth in glee, — 
His treasure in melodious rain : 
A welcome recompense he hears 
Through echoes of his own bright years. 



POEMS. 

When nature's voices silent seem, 

And cares and griefs — a sombre crowd — 
Through the soul's clouded chambers stream, 
His voice is with some charm endowed 
To scatter shadows, and to bring 
Sunlight upon his fluttering wing. 



AN AUGUST DAY. 

''Among the Mountains." 

All day the mists have draped the mountain-sides 

And thickened in the valleys, while the sun, 
Shorn of its glory, like a spectre glides 

Through the still air with aspect drear and dim : 
The wind hath folded its light wdngs, and lies 
Sleeping beneath these sad and sultry skies. 

Behind the shrouded hills a lurid light 

Streams far and wide, as if beyond them lay 
A smouldering fire, hid from our mortal sight. 
But mocking the pale glories of the day ; 

While not a shadow on the landscape lies. 
Nor songs of birds from field and thicket rise. 

To those who love thee, Nature, every change 

Hath charm and meaning — heaven's unclouded blue, 
Flocks of white clouds that through the ether range, 
Forever changing, and forever new : 

What blissful ministries have these to souls 
Too often stranded on li'fe's dreary shoals ! 



THE UNFORGOTTEN. 99 

Thanks for all beauty ! — for the sun and shade ; 
For hill and valley, wayside flower and stream ; 
For the sweet silence of the wood and glade, — 

Young morning's radiance, evening's parting gleam ; 
And all that from exhaustless bounty flows. 
To brighten life from dawning to its close. 



THE UNFORGOTTEN. 

Thou art not here ! 
Yet memory brings thy softly-beaming eye ; 

And thy sweet voice, with cadence low and clear, 
Steals o'er my spirit like an angel's sigh ! 

Thou art not here ! 
Yet in my heart each word that thou hast spoken 

Hath found a shrine above all others dear. 
And there must dwell — love's bright, undying token ! 

How strong the chain 
Which oft we grasp with careless hand, to twine 

Amid our thread of life, then strive in vain 
To burst the fetters we may not resign ! 

Thy pleading eye, 
Lit with love's holy fire which burns within. 

Hath messages that busy ears defy, — 
Voiceless, yet heard above the tempest's din. 



100 POEMS. 



Thou art not here ! 
The gorgeous sun hath lost his dazzling ray, 

The moon less lovely doth her crescent rear, 
And nature mourns with me thy lengthened stay 



The stars ascend, 
Night after night their holy watch to keep ; 

O may their light upon thy path attend, 
While seraphs cluster round to guard thy sleep ! 

To prayer ! to prayer ! 
My aching heart, there is a refuge still 

From the wild worship of thine earthly care, 
In Him whose love shall all my spirit fill. 

His days are thine ! 
Father in heaven ! sustain, and bless, and guide 

The heart that long hath ministered to mine, 
From the o'erflowing of affection's tide ! 

He will return — 
The brave, the gentle, and the undefiled ! 

Strange that my doubting eye could not discern 
The bow of promise 'mid the tempest wild ! 



THEN SAITH HE UNTO ME, "WORSHIP GOD." 

What have we worshipped in the days gone by ? 

The glorious earth, with all its wealth of streams. 
Its mountains, vales, and forest-paths, that lie 

In silent beauty, catching transient gleams 



STANZAS. 101 



Of the sun's golden showers, when skies are fair 
Above the treetops in the soft, sweet air ? 

Have we, beside old Ocean's heaving breast, 

At morn, at noon, or at the twilight hour, 
An altar reared whereon the soul might rest, 
Forgetting lust of gain, and greed of power? 
Oh ! keep that altar in the memory bright, 
When sin or sorrow veils the healing light. 

Did we make idols of the fair and frail — 

See all of beauty in their love-lit eyes, 
Hear music only when, on summer gale, 

Their voices floated soft as summ.er mists that rise 
From placid lakes at eve ? But such depart, 
Nor heed the worship of the faithful heart. 

In heaven above, or. in the earth beneath. 

Through the wide realm of waters, 'mid the land. 
That make for human hearts the crowning wreath 
Of all life's joys, let worship deep and grand 
Rise, a perpetual offering, to the throne 
Of Him who says, " I am," and reigns alone. 



STANZAS 

Suggested by ''''The Mater Dolorosa^'' of Giiido Rent. 

O paint her not with veiled eyes, 

With head bowed down in speechless woe. 
And fair hands clasped, as if to show 

How severed they from earthly ties ! 



102 POEMS. 



Sure, the dear mother of our Lord 
Should wear a look of heavenly calm, 
As if from out her heart the balm 

Might flow whence comes life's sweet accord ! 

Upon her radiant brow should gleam 
Fresh flowers, and o'er her flowing hair 
Let sunlight fall, and lay not there 

Dark shadows, lest they ill beseem. 

And to her fair, maternal face 

Give hope's exultant glow and smile. 
That we, when sorrowing thoughts beguile, 

May catch some share of that sweet grace. 

No longer let thy name be known 
" Mother of sorrows ! " Rather far 

Beam from thy heaven a guiding star, 
Whose rays are love and peace alone. 

For who so blest as thou, to claim 

The Saviour thine by childhood's meed? 
He who in after years did lead 

Great nations, conquering in his name. 



O Genius ! yet once more essay 
The holy mother's vanished face ; 
But give it joy's supremest grace. 

Lest we through pity cease to pray. 



MARGARET. 103 



MARGARET. 

She shared our lot a few brief springs, 
To show how fair a life could be, 

Then opened silently her wings 
And passed to immortality. 

The earth is fairer where she trod ; 

The evening skies more glorious are 
That her pure spirit, now with God, 

Loved holily each shining star. 

The rippling of the summer sea, 
The fading hues of twilight hour. 

The wild bird's untaught minstrelsy. 
She prized, with every bud and flower. 

And sober spirit ever seems 

To dwell with us where'er we tread, 

Sharing the summer's gorgeous beams. 
Or autumn's changing hues outspread. 

At home, or where we worship God, 
Still doth her gracious presence bide — 

Not lost ! The path her feet have trod 
Ours follow as the slow years glide. 



104 POEMS. 



" THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD ; I SHALL NOT WANT." 

I shall not want. Upon Thy arm relying, 
Hunger, and thirst, and pain will flee away, 

And the dark valley where the dead are lying. 
Smile like a garden where no flowers decay. 

The wintry wind in vain shall wave its pinion 
O'er my defenceless head if thou art nigh ! 

Ocean's rough billows, 'neath thy strong dominion, 
Still as a child in cradle-sleep shall lie. 

Soft clouds will temper rays too fiercely burning. 
If Thou my weary feet will guide, sustain ; 

And through all toil, and tears, and restless yearning, 
Thy mighty love will soothe the sharpest pain. 

I hear thee in the bird that greets the morning ; 

I see thee in the meadow's fragrant bloom ; 
In gorgeous clouds the sunset hours adorning, — 

Nor less within the portals of the tomb. 

Through .flickering leaves the moonbeams gently falling, 

The zephyr dying o'er a waveless sea. 
The night-bird to his brother softly calling. 

All lead my spirit upward unto thee ! 

And when from life, and light, and beaut}^, flinging 
Its rainbow hues around where'er I tread, 

I must go forth, no deathless want upspringing 
Shall fetter wings too long in vain outspread. 



MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 105 



MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 

O speak to me ! My soul is very weary 

Of your long silence, of your love's eclipse : 
Canst thou not see how desolate and dreary, 
Illumined by no smile from your kind lips. 
Is the long path I tread, with yearnings deep 
For one so loved, so early fallen asleep? 

About thy face, soft shining curls are clinging, 

As when of old the breezes with them toyed ; 
And to thy cheek and lip the roses winning 

That death, relentless, hath long since destroyed : 
Their memory still is fair, though blinding tears 
Drop a thick veil on the receding years. 

O regal brow, that sorrow did not sadden ; 

Eyes whose clear sunshine only paled in death ; 
Great, tender heart, that only love could gladden. 
Nor lose its hold e'en with thy parting breath, — 
Thy painted semblance consecrates my room, 
And vanished are my sadness and its gloom. 

From such as thee it is not death to sever : 

'Twas but an opening gateway to the field 
Where thou couldst glean the flowers that bloom forever. 
While earthly growth does no such harvest yield. 
From thy dear, pictured face to me there gleams 
The full fruition of thy young life's dreams. 



106 POEMS. 



COME TO ME. 

Now in the morning, while glad birds are singing, 
Now while the trees on the cool grass are flinging 
Beautiful shadows, while insects are humming, 
" Haste we to toil, for the noontide is coming;" 
Fly from the land where the soul hath dominion — 
Fold o'er my spirit thy delicate pinion ! 
Come to me ! 

When the gray shadows of twilight are creeping 
Far up the hills, and the hushed birds are sleeping ; 
When through the silence most perfect and holy 
Prayer has no wing, though the spirit be lowly, — 
Come thou with balm for each sorrow unspoken ; 
Show that earth's spells o'er my spirit are broken ! 
Come to me ! 

When through the night solemn watch I am keeping ; 
When all around me the angels seem weeping. 
Leaving their tears on the leaves and the flowers ; 
When fall the moonbeams in silvery show^ers, — 
Come thou and whisper, " My kind hand will lead thee ;" 
Bring from thine Eden the fruit that shall feed me ! 
Come to me ! 



TO THE ANGEL OF PEACE. \{)' 



TO THE ANGEL OF PEACE. 

Out of the fretting and sighing, 

Out of the turmoil and din, 
Open the door of thy quiet, — 

Open, and welcome us in. 

For we are saddened and weary, — 
Weary of change and of loss ; 

And the paths of the world look drear}^, 
An d heavy to bear is its cross — 

The cross of fruitless endeavor. 
Borne amid trial and pain, — 

Of love, blessing only the giver. 
Else pouring its tribute in vain. 

O light of the days departed, 

Our feet in the shadows are lost ! 

O voices, whence spoke the true-hearted, 
Break over life's pitiless frost ! 

Hushed be the sighing and fretting. 
The sorrow of change and its loss ; 

And aid us to see in its glory 

The crown looming over the cross. 



108 POEMS. 



We see it, and hushed is the pining ; 

The shadows are fleeing away, 
And light through darkness is shining, 

Touching all with heavenly ray, 

The cross, with its lurid uprising, 

No longer afflicts with its frown. 
For above it, with glory surprising. 

The star of rich promise looks down. 

We hail it as light on the mountain, 
Foretelling the coming of day ; — 

We hail it as draught from a fountain 
That shall all life's fever allay. 

The shadows have gone — they have vanished ; 

Life still has its sunshine and bloom ; 
The mists may return, though now banished, 

But never more cometh the gloom. 

O beautiful angel, that sitteth 

Above every cloud in our skies, 
Our fears and forebodings thou biddest 

Drop down where each past sorrow lies ! 

Enough ; there are promise and gladness 

In the future that opens to-day ; 
And the path now before hath no sadness. 

Since Hope spans the once dreary way. 



NATURE'S INFLUENCES. 109 



NATURE'S INFLUENCES. 

The sunlight drops through quivering leaves 

Upon my garden walks in June, 
And hourly round my lowly eaves 

Some friendly bird breaks forth in tune ; 
O singing bird and fluttering leaves, 
Ye charm away each thought that grieves ! 

When white clouds float o'er land and sea. 

And soft, blue skies spread over all, 
And down the hillsides, full and free, 
Streams to their own glad music fall, 
My heart, whatever burdens press. 
Grows light with wordless happiness ! 

When morning comes, and brings the bees 

To toil away the sun-bright hours, 
And dews hang glittering on the trees, 
Or fringe with light the wakening flowers. 
With its first golden beam each care 
Disperses with the mists in air ! 

When the fair earth, by summer blessed, 

My heart with silent rapture fills. 
Life seems a Father's rich bequest. 
And his own voice all passion stills ; 
Then nature's harmony pervades 
The soul as sunlight fills the glades. 



110 POEMS, 



DOWN BY THE RIVER. 

Down by the river my fairy sleeps, 
Where the warm breeze o'er its bosom creeps, 
Lifting the curls of her silken hair. 
Fanning the rose in her cheek so fair ; 
She of the blossom and breeze had birth, — 
Her brow had never a shade of earth. 

Close by her rest is the lily white. 
Kissed by the waters so clear and bright. 
Upheld by the elves that glide below, 
With streaming tresses and eyes aglow. 
Lightly she dreams of the mermaid's cave 
Beneath the bed of the rushing wave. 

Over her pillow of velvet moss 

Gently the willows their branches toss ; 

Violets nestle about her feet. 

Folded her hands o'er the rosebud meet ; 

Jasmine, and orange, and bluebells rare 

Sleep in the folds of her shining hair. 

Hush ! there is music above her rest ; 
Still is the bird on its hidden nest ; 
For never hath human voice or bird 
Such depths in the soul of mortal stirred ; 
And when shall the listening ear again 
Hear sounds like those of the fairy glen ? 



THE MOTHER'S CHARGE. \\\ 

Bide not her waking ! She will not brook 
That idle vision shall on her look ; 
Wait not the quiver of silken lash — 
Hasten away from the bright eye's flash ; 
Else were the stream and the vale bereft, — 
Never a footprint of fairy left ! 



THE MOTHER'S CHARGE. 

Precious and lovely, I yield her to thee ; 
Take her, the gem of thy dwelling to be ! 
She who was ever my solace and pride. 
Flees from my bosom to cling to thy side ! 

Guard her with care which must never decline ; 
Make her thy day-star, — she long hath been mine. 
Lonely henceforth is my desolate lot \ 
What is the casket where jewel is not? 

Soothe her in sorrow, and brighten her smile ; 

Chide her most gently if folly beguile : 

One so unsullied, so trustful of heart. 

From the " Good Shepherd " will never depart. 

Take her, and pray that thy arm may be strong 
Safely to shield her from danger and wrong : 
Be to her all that her heart hath portrayed, 
Then over thy path will gather no shade. 

Now she adores thee as one without spot, 
Dreams not of sorrow to darken her lot. 
Joyful, yet tearful, I yield her to thee : 
Take her, the light of thy dwelling to be. 



112 POEMS. 



THE MERRIMACK RIVER. 

The tide comes up and the tide goes down, — 
The heaving pulse of the great blue sea : 

It passeth by hamlet, grove, and town, 
Between banks as green as grass can be. 

And here and there, where the rocks crop out, 

The waters eddy and whirl away. 
Then scatter like molten glass about. 

Catching the sun of the summer day. 

The divers spring to the gliding bed, 

And dally with foam themselves have made. 

While the silent river is onward sped 

To the far-off sea, where its course is stayed. 

Sometimes as blue as the azure dome. 

Then gray with the hue of the storm-filled air, 

When tiny waves, with their wreaths of foam, 
Rise from their surface as frail as fair. 

How softly, when moonlight falls, creeps up 
The tide, with its even lines of light ; 

Or, broken like bubbles in festal cup. 
Mingle again with the shades of night. 

Beautiful river, e'en while I sing 

Thou liest in waveless beauty bright : 

Not a cloud doth its passing shadow fling 
Over thy bosom of silvery light. 



LET ME DTE YO UNG. \ \ 3 



LET ME DIE YOUNG. 

It is not sad to die wliile health is ours, 
Ere sorrow loads with leaden wings the hours, — 
Ere hopes so fondly cherished have been crushed, 
Or wild despair hath o'er our bosoms rushed ! 
We should not mourn the early dead, the bless 'd, 
Whose spirits share in heaven's unbroken rest. 
Let me die young. 



I ask not wrinkled brow and silvered hair ; 
Nor tottering form bent with a world of care ; 
Nor aching heart for joys and visions fled ; 
Nor tears for early friends — the lost and dead ; 
Nor fearful shuddering from my certain doom, 
For age enshrouds the grave with tenfold gloom : 
Let me die young. 

O let me go while friends around me cling. 
While hope spreads high aloft her airy wing ; 
Let me depart while flowers bedeck the way, 
Where my light footstep still delights to stray, 
While heaven-born faith within is high and strong 
O let me join the dead, — a countless throng, 
/would die young. 



114 POEMS. 



A SUMMER INCIDENT. 



A mossy bank, with here and there a stone 

Gray as the moss, and trees encircling all, 
With their cool, flickering shadows round us thrown, 
As the wind played among their branches tall, — 
These wooed us oft 'mid summer's last fair days 
To tread those sw^eetly solemn woodland ways. 

Few were the songs we heard, for far away 

Had fled the songsters that make sjDringtime mirth 
But now and then a sweet and joyous lay 
Sprang from the silence into welcome birth ; 
Then for a brief, bright moment, reigned again 
Summer o'er hill, and field, and shadowy glen. 

Sitting and musing in this lone retreat, 

Feeling that only Nature's God was here. 
Lured by some brilliant coloring at our feet, 
A humming-bird from out the woods drew near, 
Hovered about us, came and went once more, 
As if some mission to our hearts he bore. 

Gay bird, we hailed thine advent with delight, 

And saw fair omens on thy glittering wing, 
And said, " Some message, if we read aright, 
These welcome pinions to our spirits bring." 
And so, as fancy led, swift visions rose 
And waned like sunset hues at day's calm close. 



yUS T SE VENTEEN. 115 

That hour of solitude — that mossy seat — 

The bird that sought us from his leafy home ■ — 
The stirring of the leaves to breezes sweet — 
The golden sunlight, and the deep blue dome 

Reaching o'er all — these live 'mong fairest things 
That memory from her countless treasures brings. 



JUST SEVENTEEN. 

M. J. C. 

Over the river, the tranquil river, 

The light boat flew with its merry crew ; 

The golden light from the sun's full quiver 
Kissed the wide waters so still and blue. 

'Twas a light, a graceful, a fairy bark, 

With fair young girls for its joyous freight ; 

Now nearing the shore in the shadows dark 

That dropped from the willows when day grew late ; 

Then out in the sunshine full and clear. 
With birds all singing in wood and brake. 

And lilies afloat on the crystal mere, 
Delicate, white as the pure snowflake 

The boat swayeth there by the rustic pier. 

The tide still glideth on to the sea. 
The willows yet droop on the banks, and near 

The birds sing gaily in copse and tree. 



116 POEMS. 



But the glad young voices are heard no more, - 
All hushed since silence on one was laid ! 

Since one went forth to the viewless shore, 
The voice of mirth and song is stayed. 

Her pale brow gathered a paler hue ; 

The rose-tint vanished from lip and cheek ; 
The dark eye weary of sunlight grew, 

The hand for earth's lightest task too weak. 

So they laid her down to her holy rest, 

When the gentle heart grew still and cold ; 

And the winds are sighing above her breast. 
While love is burdened with grief untold. 

But she, for a fading wreath of flowers. 
Is crowned with immortelles ! Let her go. 

Though the light go with her, and after hours. 
Shorn of their pinions, pass sad and slow ! 



SUBMISSION. 



How easy when the skies are fair, 
And all around is bathed in light, 

To see God's presence everywhere. 
And trust his love nor fear his might. 

Then all earth's voices speak of Him, 
The tender, watchful, gracious Friend \ 

Nor deem we that a cloud can dim 
The blessings that our paths attend. 



SONG. 117 



But when the whispered word comes near, ~ 

" Of all thou hast, the choicest gem 
That glitters in thy circlet here 
I need for mine own diadem," 

Doth the o'erburdened heart be still, 
And say, " I know that thou art God, 

And trustfully obey thy will. 

Though sharp and heavy be the rod " ? 

If so, no burden can be great. 

No grief without its solace near ; 

And e'er through heaven's unfolded gate 
Comes love to soothe, and hope to cheer. 

No way so desolate but He 

Who made will tread with us its gloom ; 
O storm-tossed, weary spirit, see 

Beneath his feet celestial bloom ! 



SONG. 

O chase the brooding care away 

That dims thine eyes' soft, azure light, 

And to thy lips bring back the play 

Of dimpling smiles, now vanished quite. 



118 POEMS. 



Thy voice, melodious as the bird's 
Upon the yielding spray that sings, 

Breathes the same earnest, loving words 
That touched of old affection's springs ; 

But the old laughter in the tone. 

The joy that winged each tender thought, 
Are gone, and thou dost dwell alone 

Beneath some cloud with sorrow fraught. 

Restore the sunlight to thine eye ! 

Call back the smiles that grief has won ! 
Some fadeless flowers around thee lie — 

Love's offspring, warmed by cloudless sun. 

Lift but thy trembling lids, and light 
From soft, blue skies and glittering star, 

And oh ! from human founts more bright. 
Will scatter all life's mists afar ! 



I WILL LEAD THE WAY. 

The last good-night of an aged friend. 

Aye, thou didst lead the way ! 
Softly the gate unfolded, for no sound 

Fell on the air, no cloud obscured the day, 
No wail of anguish filled the air around. 

While o'er its threshold thou didst pass to tread 
The heavenly city, by the Saviour led ! 



CHANNINGS MONUMENT. 119 

We miss thy vanished smile, 
Thy white hairs like a crown of glory borne, 

Thine eyes' clear light, thy heart untouched by guile. 
The cheerful echoing of thy steps at morn ; 

We miss all these, and more which Memory brings, 
As fetterless across the past she springs. 

Gone to the land of peace. 
Thou reverend counsellor, thou faithful friend ! 
Feeling thy blessings with thy years increase, 
And looking tranquilly unto the end, 

Thou didst pass on serenely, till there came 
God's angel to bear forth life's quenchless flame. 

In honor, love, and truth. 
In all good deeds, our steps shall follow thine ; 

At call of duty or of tender ruth. 
The path that thou didst tread for us shall shine : 
We will thy memory guard with holy care, 
Till thy celestial heritage we share. 



CHANNING'S MONUMENT. 

His name above is eulogy complete, 
Nor can an epitaph exalt his fame : 

Succeeding ages will that name repeat. 

And truths revealed to him with joy proclaim. 



120 POEMS, 



We said with tears, " How hath the mighty one 
Departed in the noontide of his day !" 

We felt as if the setting of a sun 

Had left in shadow Ufe's perplexing way ! 

Oh ! who shall say that lofty spirit fled 
And left no sign to guide our steps aright ! 

His shining path our wayward feet may tread, 
Made brighter by his own benignant light. 

We are the reapers in a plenteous field, 

White with a harvest which his hands prepared 

Blessings must follow him that hath revealed 
So rich a feast by countless spirits shared ! 

While grateful hearts and reverential hands 
Have reared a lofty tablet to his fame, 

Old Ocean's wastes — the earth's divided lands — 
Have heard the echo of his deathless name ! 



LIFE'S HARVEST. 

As thus in solitude I sit, 
Regardless how the moments flit, 
I tread again the paths I knew 
When hope was fresh and life was new 
And long-veiled faces smile again. 
And bless me as they blessed me then. 



LIFE'S HARVEST. 121 

Thou, sister, of the queenly mien, 
And gracious smile, and glance serene. 
Whose voice through years of calm content 
Its sweetness to our household lent, 
We parted ere thy midday sun 
Its downward journey had begun. 

And thou, O gentle heart and true I 
While yet there lingered morning dew 
Among the flowers that strewed thy way, 
Thine ear had caught the angels' lay ; 
And, undismayed, thy footsteps pressed 
To God's fair city of the blessed. 

Dear friend, whose presence sunshine made, 

When through life's morning hours I strayed ; 

Who kept my feet th' advancing day 

Lest they in thorny paths might stray. 

What grief, what agony was ours 

To lay thee 'neath the autumn flowers ! 

As time flows on, how sure we stand 
'Mid wrecks on life's receding strand — 
The old and young, the grave and gay. 
Faded from mortal ken away ; 
But not in death, — love cannot die ; 
Its measure is eternitv. 



122 POEMS. 



"IF IT BE POSSIBLE, LET THIS CUP PASS FROM ME.' 

None live but through the anguish and the gloom 

Of some dark hour they breathe the Saviour's prayer ; 

The cup is not withdrawn, and the sad doom 
To drain the bitter dregs we all must share. 

Yet mingled with the draught who doth not taste 
Sweet drops of mercy from the living wave, 

And feel that evermore a hand is placed 

Beneath the drooping head to soothe and save ? — ■ 

That not forgotten, friendless, and alone 

This sometime waste our weary footsteps thread. 

But that an all-sufficient arm is thrown 

Around our weakness, yielding strength instead ? 

Therefore we will the proffered cup accept 

With childlike trust, and purpose strong and deep ; 

Knowing how surely is God's promise kept — 
How true the love and care that never sleep. 

To the unfailing shelter of his wing 

O let us flee when earthly storms arise ; 
And from the dust immortal flowers shall spring. 

To breathe of hope when perish earthly ties. 



AFTER A RAMBLE. 123 



AFTER A RAMBLE. 

INSCRIBED TO A. M. 

I sought those grand old woods again 

Where oft in summer hours we strayed, 
To wander up the rocky glen 

Beneath the thick trees' welcome shade, 
And list the lapse and murmuring low 
Of the small streamlet's downward flow. 

But what a change has marked the spot 

Since last my feet had pressed its moss ! 
Tall trees had bowed ; the vines were not — 
Rude hands had recked not of their loss : 
There lay, beneath the August sun. 
The once green hillside bald and dun. 

They live in memory alone, — 

Those bowers of green, that changeful light. 
Those bird-notes on the silence strewn. 

Those long, long days, so soft, so bright, — 
And, as I muse, there float once more 
Through those loved shades the sounds of yore. 

Among the fairest pearls which time 

Has strung on memory's chain, I prize 
Those hours in summer's golden prime. 
Woven of song and favoring skies ; 
Their cool, refreshing beauty showers 
A hallowed charm on life's dark hours. 



124 POEMS. 



AN ITALIAN SCENE. 

She sits upon the beach, — her babe asleep 
Upon her loving breast, her glance afar 

Over the blue and scarcely moving deep, 

Whose beauty naught in that still air can mar. 

Beneath her feet the yellow sands outspread. 
Which quiet waters kiss with dainty lips ; 

And o'er her tender and majestic head 

Lies the soft hue that marks the sun's eclipse. 

The day is fading, but to her alone ; 

In all that realm of sea and luminous air, 
Is the one sail now hastening to its own 

Upon the shore that stretches wide and fair. 

The fisher with his briny treasures hastes, 

Led by love's star, from his far wanderings, home ; 

The winds and waves of all old Ocean's wastes 
Vanish, as vanishes the white-lipped foam. 

Home ! To the weary wanderer how sweet 

The word that means contentment, love, and trust,- 

A shelter from the blast, a covert meet 
When early hopes lie trailing in the dust ! 

Italia's skies above the rippling sea. 

Each wavelet's crest a crown of sparkling white. 
Mother with babe at rest upon her knee, — 

All shrouded by the day's declining light. 



AMERICA. 125 



AMERICA. 

We love thy broad and rolling streams, fair land ! 

Thy noble forests in their robes of green, 
The restless waves that wash thy pebbly strand, 

Thy mountains from the far-off ocean seen. 

We love the story of thy wrongs and strife. 
Thy battle-fields and monuments of pride. 

The dauntless men with every virtue rife 

Who fought and prayed for thee, and nobly died ! 

We love the temples Learning's hand hath reared, 
And through their portals press with eager foot ; 

The fount within — by none but tyrants feared — 
Sends its pure stream to nourish freedom's root. 

We love the consecrated house of prayer, 
Where weary spirits find a calm repose ; 

The peal of Sabbath bells which rends the air. 

And all the holy thoughts which round them close. 

Thy daughters love thee, for their homes are bright 
With pure affection's softly beaming ray ; 

No tyrant hand, with unresisted might, 

Shatters our heart-strings in its ruthless sway. 

Home of the exile, blessings on thee rest ! 

Ring out thy watchword till the mountain-side 
Sends back the tone which fills each freeman's breast, 

Till liberty hath claimed its throne of pride ! 



126 POEMS. 



God of the pilgrim ! to thy gracious hand 
Our noble heritage we give with prayer ! 

Encompass with thy love our favored land, 
And guard our freedom with a holy care ! 



THE RIVER OF LIFE. 

"There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of 
God." 

Where floweth that full stream of life ? 

Tell us, that so our weary feet, 
Turned from life's pleasures, pains, and strifes, 

Shall by its tide find rest complete ; — 

Rest from the aching heart of grief. 

Pause from the throbbing brow of pain, 

From hopes that fade as fades the leaf 
Beneath the autumn's chilling rain. 

And on that brink may sorrows die. 

And sin forget its dark dismay. 
Knowing those waters passing by 

Through fields of heavenly verdure stray. 

Thou Angel, who for man of old 

The spring of healing waters stirred. 

Lead us where ceaselessly hath rolled 

The flood whose voice no man hath heard ! 



STANZAS. 127 



Thou river, making glad the land 
By angel feet in glory trod, 

Bear us, still guided by His hand. 
To the fair city of our God ! 



STANZAS. 



O winds that traverse the wide, blue sea, 
What of the vessels that come and go ? 

What of the mists that veil from me 
The solemn sweep of its ebb and flow ? 

What of the light that streams at eve 

Far through the Uvilight gray and dim, — 

The sailor's hope when the daybeams leave 
Darkness and cold on the wave for him ? 

What of the shores ye have kissed and left ? 

What of the birds that went down with ye 
When the red sun of the morning cleft 

The misty shroud of the boundless sea ? 

O mystical sea and rushing wind, 

And golden sunlight and silver}^ star, 

And thoughts with all things in nature twined. 
What teachers in God's great name ye are 1 

Thou spirit that dwelleth in man, more grand 
Than aught uprising beneath the skies. 

Strive in the presence of God to stand 
Childlike, yet noble ; simple, yet wise ! 



128 POEMS. 



THE WISH OF THE DYING. 

My spirit longs for music — not the low, 

Sad wail that lingers round the bed of death 

Charming the spirit to these scenes of woe, 

While life grows weaker with each passing breath ; 

But a triumphant gush — a mingled strain 

Stirring the spirit with unwonted fire. 
Kindling the eye till naught of earth remain 

To fetter thought which never can expire ! 

O let my soul go home on the broad wing 
Of such exulting music ! It were well 

Ere the great chorus which the ransomed sing 
Bursts on my ear, to hear this thrilling swell ! 

And now the strength is mine for which I pined ; 

And I shall tread the portals of the tomb 
Nerved by the spell this melody hath wrought, 

And pass undaunted through its veil of gloom ! 



MISSING. 



O ships that melt away upon the verge 
Of that far-off and ever-murmuring sea, 

My heart makes saddened music, like a dirge 
For one that went, but ne'er returned to me. 



AN INVITATION. 129 

It sailed with white wings spread and pennon gay, 
With many a cheering " God-speed" from the shore, 

But from that sun-bright and auspicious day 

None hath returned to count its wanderings o'er. 

There were brave hearts and true, and raven hair 
That time had blanched not, tones that rose and fell 

Like organ music, brows untouched by care. 
And eyes whose gentle light we loved too well. 

Gone ! gone ! I roam in vain beside the deep, 
And question winds, and waves, and nightly star, 

And through long years these weary vigils keep, 
Relieved by no faint radiance from afar. 

Still I will watch and pray, hope, though in vain. 
For that returning bark so richly fraught ! 

Roll on, thou cold, blue, never-resting main ! 

Across thy waves speeds my o'erburdened thought. 



AN INVITATION. 



Where is that little brown-eyed fay 

That sometimes dances through my door, 
And hastes her blushing cheek to lay 
On mine, and kisses o'er and o'er 
The lips that ne'er forget to bless 
With love's unmeasured tenderness? 



130 POEMS. 



I seem to see those twinkling feet 

Glide past me in my silent room ; 
I seem to hear those accents sweet 
That banish every note of gloom : 

Those curls thrown back from ample brow, 
And large dark eyes — I see them now. 

But when the form so soft, so fair, 

I fain would gather to my breast. 
And guard its childish beauty there 
From all earth's shadows and unrest, 
I wake from the fond wish to miss 
Her voice, her smile, her grateful kiss. 

God keep thee tenderly and safe. 

Thou bud of beauty and of grace ! 
Thou seem'st some sparkling, wandering waif, 
Cast earthward to our fond embrace ! 
Come, fairy, to my silent room. 
And fill its void with song and bloom ! 



"A CUP OF WATER IN MY NAME." 

It seems so small a thing 

To give a cup of water in Thy name, 

O blessed Saviour ! that we fain would bring 

Something more worthy thee, by which to claim 

A share in thy great love ; but, if no more. 

Why, then our cup a symbol meet shall be. 

Circled with prayers like pearls of purity, 



TO ONE IN HEAVEN 131 

Faultless as virgin gold when burnished o'er 
Till it reflect heaven's light ; and for the draught, 
Drops of clear cr}'stal like the nightly dew 
That heaven lets fall. Thus in thy searching view 
May our meek offering shine, hallowed in love. 
That, when the grateful, parching lips have quaffed 
The cooling balm, thy judgment may approve. 



TO ONE IN HEAVEN. 

Thy birthday, love ! O whisper, do they keep 
Such festivals in heaven ? We kept it here 

With sad remembering, and love too deep 

To breathe thy name without a smile and tear. 

The world — we knew it all too well — was not, 
For one so true and tender, peace and rest; 

Sharp trials sped across thy varied lot, 

And with great sorrows was thy heart oppressed. 

So, when the angel came with lightest touch, 
And beckoned thee away, our hearts were still ; 

We could not keep, though loving overmuch, 
And bowed submissive to the Father's will. 

But when thy birthday comes, we feel anew 
How far thou art from our accustomed ways ; 

Our wishes die in murmurings, drifting through 
The low, sad music of departed days. 



132 POEMS. 



The flowers we brought thee faded long ago ; 

Those that encircle thine unshadowed brow 
Grew where no fading is, beneath the glow 

That makes the brightness of thy being now. 

Nay, no farewell ! thou livest, lovest yet, 
And we in answering faithfulness are thine ; 

Thy feet, no longer weary, God hath set 
Where evermore his truth and mercy shine. 



LOST. 

O pity him ! So far his wayward feet 

Had wandered from the true and narrow way, 

He knew not how to turn or to retreat. 

So onward pressed, though " that way ruin lay." 

His was a loving and a grateful heart. 

Imagination his, and lofty thought ; 
His rare, sweet gifts he failed not to impart 

Till his glad presence seemed of sunshine wrought. 

How all the hopes that clustered round his name, 
All the bright visions in the future seen. 

Have vanished, well we know ; but word of blame 
No mourner breathes above his sleep serene. 

God measured him, his strength, his weakness, all, 
And the temptations knew by which he fell ; 

But not beyond God's mercy could he fall. 

Nor the great love no wanderings could dispel. 



THE DAY OF REST. 133 



And though unhonored lies his crumbling dust, ♦ 
Though shadows veil his memory, we, the band 

Who grew beside one hearth, in love and trust 
Yield his safe guidance to the Saviour's hand. 



THE DAY OF REST. 



Holy and beautiful ! The very bird 

That pours his wealth of music on the ear, 

Seems, to our chastened hearts, by worship stirred, 
To pay his tribute to the season dear. 

The breezes pass us by with loitering wing. 
And less distinct the insects' joyful hum ; 

Fainter the voices of the gurgling spring,— 
And all proclaims the welcome rest hath come. 

The flowers hang droopingly on pliant stem, 
* The pale, thin clouds float down the azure sea 
With gentlest motion, and the heart, like them. 
Fain would go forth sinless, and calm, and free 

All things without do utter " holy time," 

And all within the soul gives answering cheer ; 

The burden of all grief, and care, and crime 
Is veiled from sight — it casts no shadow here. 

Into the deep recesses of the mind, 

O holy Peace ! descend, and long abide. 

Till a perpetual Sabbath there enshrined, 
Sheds guiding rays across life's ebbing tide ! 



134 POEMS. 



SONG. 

A smile, a smile for vanished hours, 
When we, content in woodland bowers, 
Made, from the flowers of love and truth, 
The brightest garland of our youth. 

A tear, a tear for vanished hours, 
Which saw the fading of the flowers. 
Whose perfume filled the sunny way 
We trod, with hearts so pure and gay. 

A smile, a smile for vanished hours. 
Which saw our yet untrammeled powers 
Awaken at the voice of fame. 
And toil to win an honored name. 

A tear, a tear for vanished hours, 
When sickness clogged our mental powers, 
And sorrow's veil, a withering blight. 
Obscured the spirit's dawning light. 

A smile — a tear — for both are given, 
To lead the spirit nearer heaven ! 
The smile shall live when years decay — 
The trembling tear shall pass away. 



PRAYER FOR A SICK CHILD. 

Father, the gentle child 
Whom we have loved so tenderly and long. 

And guarded, lest his spirit be defiled 
By the world's ministry of care and wrong,- 



THE PORTRAIT OX THE WALL. 135 



This fragile being lies 
Upon his little couch of grief and pain I 

The sunlight hath no beauty in his eyes, 
And the glad sports of childhood woo in vain ! 

The merry voice is hushed, 
Or speaks in the sad wailing of disease ! 

Like a fair lily by the tempest crushed, 
He hath bent meekly to Thy just decrees ! 

Though but a little child, 
O, how he needeth thy paternal care 1 

Bend to him, Father, and in accents mild. 
Teach him the burden of his life to bear ! 

If unto us he die, 
Aid us to see Thou doest all things well ! 

Guide the young spirit to its home on high, 
In its unsinninof loveliness to dwell. 



THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 

Thou hast come back, beloved, for whom we mourn 
Ever and everywhere ! And now that spring 
Awakens singing birds and hillside flowers. 
And breaks the light shield of the swelling bud. 
And earth, and sky, and sea with man rejoice, 
Thy pictured image, with the large, calm eyes. 
Full of pure light, speaks gently to my heart. 
And bids the great waves of its deathless grief 



130 POEMS, 



Fall back in meek submission, to the Hand 
That led thee forth when for thy busy brain 
Earth had no further task -work ! 

As I turn, 
Thou followest with thy sweetly serious gaze, 
Until I feel that if my teeming soul 
Could utter all its fulness, thou wouldst speak — 
Those silent lips would tell me of the love 
That passed, with thy pure spirit, into heaven. 
To suffer loss nor change. In after time. 
When burdens seem too heavy to be borne, 
And the heart stands aghast at its own pain, 
I will of thy dear presence make a shrine. 
Whereon to lay all sorrows, and will read 
On thy clear brow and lip and in thine eye 
The lesson of thy life. 

Since thou didst go 
'Through death's dark portal," never sun hath shone, 
Nor soft wind played, nor flower exhaled perfume. 
As in that time when we together strayed 
Through wild and shadowy woods, or by the streams 
That rippled in their flow. Thou hast gone home. 
And we, bereft and wounded, would not raise 
A trembling hand to beckon thy return. 
We love thee far too well ! Life's thorny track 
Can no more bruise thy feet, its cares oppress. 
Nor bitter draught offend thy quivering lip. 
Safe ! safe ! and naught for us but memory's page. 
And thy fair image, rescued from the grave. 
Blessing our daily lives. 



SONG FOR MARCH. 137 



SONG FOR MARCH. 

O cold, gray clouds ! O piercing wind ! 

Why will ye not depart, 
And leave the springtime of the year — 

The springtime of the heart? 
We bent through winter's gloom and chill 

To your unwelcome sway ; 
And now, with all your sombre train, 

Pass on your cheerless way ! 

Beneath the mould the buried flowers 

Are longing for the light ; 
And birds that fain would sit and sing. 

Pursue their noiseless flight. 
Snow-wreaths yet lie in sheltered vales ; 

Ice fringes yet the streams ; 
And hillsides, bleak and bare, reflect 

The sun's still, pallid beams. 

Ye cold, gray clouds and chilling winds, 

We turn from you to dream 
Of verdant banks and mossy nooks, 

Where early violets gleam ; 
Where young birds call from out the nest, 

And, from the clear blue sky, 
Down swooping, with a gush of song, 
Love heeds their plaintive cry. 



138 POEMS. 



And thus, with Fancy's aid, we tread 

Old wood-paths, hushed and dim ; 
And hear, far up in clustering leaves. 

The wild bird's native hymn ; 
Or lured by moonlight, led by love, 

To gather dew-bright flowers. 
We draw from night's most holy urn 

The strength for care-dimmed hours. 



CONSOLATION. 



Are they not near us — though afar they seem — 

Whom we call dead, and mourn and miss so much ? 
And though we cannot catch their white robes' gleam. 
Nor feel the hallowed rapture of their touch. 
Are they not with us, mourning when we weep. 
Glad with our gladness, guarding when we sleep ? 

O ! what were life without such fond belief, 

Since from our side the trusted and the good 
Fall as a blasted flower or withered leaf, 

And leave our hearts and homes in solitude ; 
And the strong staff is broken, and th^ night 
Has fallen on eyes that made our earthly light. 

If they still live, they fold us round about 

With unseen arms ; and theirs the strength, not ours. 
That buoys us o'er the waves of dread and doubt 
Into the calmer realm of sunlit hours. 
Thus are they messengers of God, to ope 
The golden gate to the broad fields of hope. 



TO CAPTAIN S. C. 139 



TO CAPTAIN S***** C*****. 

On his Eighty-eighth Birtliday. 

Dear friend, upon whose honored head 

The crown of many years is laid, 
We bless thy God and ours, who led 

Thy feet, whose arm thy strength has stayed, 

Along our daily paths thy smile 

Hath fallen like sunshine warm and bright : 
And from thy lips, that knew no guile. 

Kind words dropped softly as the light. 

Thou friend of many years, we bring 
Our kindest wish, our earnest prayer. 

That from thy future hours may spring 
New hopes to solace every care. 

Thanks for the past ! Our future days 
We leave unto His gracious hand 

That leads us through life's pleasant ways, 
A happy, though a broken band. 

And when we pass beyond the veil. 
Where true hearts wait our weary feet, 

O Thou whose mercies never fail. 
Accept us at Thy mercy-seat. 



140 POEMS. 



GOD DISTRIBUTETH SORROWS. 

' ' The breast 
Wrung with the woiitids that kill not, bid ne^er heal." 

Unto some hearts grief is a holy thing, 

Not to be scattered thence, as dew from flowers, 
When the light morning breeze unfurls its wing, 
But taking deeper root with passing hours : 

Fed by the springs of memory, fanned by sighs, 
It feels no ray from joy's benignant skies. 

Some lay their sorrows like a garment by. 

And don the festal robe e'er tears be dried ; 
But love, with hearts of finer mould, doth lie 
Twined with each fibre, and if death divide 
The loving and the loved, oh ! woe for him 
Whose cup is filled with anguish to the brim ! 

And that dread cup is still renewed through years 

Of aching void within, and gloom around ; 
And life's rough pathway is bedewed with tears, 
Shed amid night and silence most profound ; 
Such grief unveils itself alone to God, 
Who pities while he wields the chastening rod ! 



O ye whose sorrows are but summer clouds. 

That vanish, while ye gaze, from heaven's blue sea, 
Lay not irreverent hand where anguish shrouds 
A soul whose depths are fathomless to thee ! 

Leave the bruised heart with Him whose gentle sway 
Can heal the wound that weeps its life away ! 



'/ HAVE PRAYED FOR THEE, PETER " 141 



"I HAVE PRAYED FOR THEE, PETER." 

Did the chill midnight air 
Thrill with the whispers of the cherubim 

As thou didst kneel in prayer, 
Spotless and holy One ! to plead for him ? 

Did the unfolding gate 
Of the celestial city lure thine eye, 

And bid thee smile on fate, 
When from their portals came the strength to die ? 

Did faith's unspotted wing 
Bear to thy feet the blessing thou didst crave ? 

Did the archangel bring 
Swift at thy bidding help to soothe and save ? 

Did heaven's unnumbered choir 
Pour their full flood of music on thine ear, — 

Renew the holy fire, 
Which, 'neath earth's veil of anguish, burned most clear? 

Did the all-perfect One 
Answer thy fervent worship at his throne 

With smiles thy faith had won. 
By thy stern agony endured alone ? 

Yet thou didst meekly say, 
" Frail, erring brother, I have prayed for thee. 
That God may be thy stay. 
And guide thee, sinless, to thy home and me." 



142 POEMS. 



From the cold, dew-wet sod 
Thy prayer was borne on seraph wings afar ! 

Thou blessed Child of God, 
We joy to hail thee, earth's refulgent star ! 

Ask thou for me the gift 
Of an unsullied heart, a lofty love, 

That shall my spirit lift 
From earthly idols to thy home above. 



EASTER. 



Bring lilies and the passion-flower, 

And every lovely thing that grows, 
To beautify the passing hour ; 

Bring pansies, and the glowing rose. 
And delicate fern, and tender vine, 
And lay upon the sacred shrine 
Around which we to-day repair ! 
" Lo, He is risen ! " repeat with those 
Who stood where Jesus once had lain 
Freed from all pain, in deep repose ! 
For lo ! the tomb is empty, bright 
With radiance of immortal light, 
Which we with him may hope to share ! 



FEBRUARY i6, 1883. 143 



FEBRUARY 16, 1883. 

So like a cool spring day — the lessening snow, 

The mist in the still air through which the sun 
Struggles while yielding warmth, till, all aglow, 
The traveller pauses ere his goal be won. 

And thinks how soon where now his footsteps press, 
The earth will smile in its fresh emerald dress. 

Beneath this spotless covering lie asleep 

Blue violets, and their train of early flowers : 
The wintry blasts above unheeded sweep. 

For they await the warmth and early showers. 
Aye, and for them the swift-returning bird 
Will pour his wealth of music long unheard. 

While Winter wears his crown, the soft, south wind. 

Evading his stern sway, comes floating near. 
Whispering of loveliest things that lie enshrined 
In Nature's bosom, cradle both and bier : 
While Memory revels in the long-past hours, 
Hope weaves anew its garland of fresh flowers. 

To-day spring's promise — by to-morrow's dawn 

Sharp frost, and blinding snow, and tempest drear 
May sweep the lake, the forest, and the lawn, — 
Winter still monarch of the changing year : 
And when light-footed May again draws nigh, 
What can the grand old monarch do but die ? 



144 POEMS. 



OUR LIFE. 

"This is the day the Lord hath made," — 
So sang the poet-king of old ; 
And in its mingled light and shade 
The story of each life is told. 

The past, no longer ours, has swept 
Adown time's unreturning wave ; 

The future, in God's counsel kept, 
Is not for man to shun or crave. 

As sunset hues Hit o'er the lake, 
Girdled by hills of living green, 

As ripples o'er its surface break, — 
A moment bright, then no more seen. 

So speeds man's life — a ray of light, 
A breaking wave upon the shore, — 

A flower that withers in a night, 

To bloom on the glad earth no more. 

Yet this brief day the Lord hath made 
Is ours, to win the victor's palm. 

To tread, 'mid sorrow, doubt, and shade, 
The paths that lead to heavenly calm. 

Uphold us. Father, lest we fail ! 

O guide us. Saviour, lest we stray ! 
Aid us to see, beyond the veil. 

Light streaming from immortal day. 



ON THE BAY. 145 



And this shall make us strong to bear, 
Firm to resist when foes surround ; 

And help our faltering feet to dare 

The heights with victory's halo crowned. 

Those heights, resplendent with God's smile, 

Await us at the sunset time. 
When passing from earth's gathering night 

We wake to heaven's immortal prime. 



ON THE BAY. 



How oft at twilight hour 
We two went floating off upon the wave ! 

The west resplendent with its sunset dower, 
The east all luminous, yet softly grave ; 

The ocean spread around, 
Just ruffled, yet reflecting every hue, 

Marking with foam each emerald islet's bound, 
And gliding back its billows to renew. 

Then the lone seabird sped 
Its trackless way with many a plaintive cry ; 

The winds swept slowly, and from ocean's bed 
Rose perfumes that e'en now seem gathering nigh. 

Leaning on idle oars. 
We gazed on hills whose feet were on the sand ; 

Their crowns rose grandly where the sunlight pours 
Its last, rich flood on rippling sea and land. 



146 POEMS. 



In all the long, bright past — 
When ocean, earth, and sky, in blest accord. 

Their spell of light, song, motion, round us cast 
There are no dearer hours in memory's ward. 

The cup our lips did press 
In that glad time was trembling to the brim 

With its sweet draught of mortal happiness, — 
Not wasted, lost, but grown far-off and dim. 



PRAYER FOR GUIDANCE. 

Not as I will, because I do not see 
The path before my feet, but, trusting Thee, 
Walk on to meet the goal that thou hast set, 
Near or afar, all veiled or hidden yet. 

Not as I will, lest I must go alone 

Guideless through paths with thorns and brambles strewn; 

No light for tearful eyes, no balm for pain. 

No heaven-sent hope to light the darkened plain. 

But as Thou wilt ! Enfold my hand in thine, 
And by thy side, in hope and trust divine, 
I will move on, content to be with thee. 
However close the gathering shades may be ! 



''PEACE ON earth:' 147 

E'en as Thou wilt, only be thou my strength, 
That I may reach the blissful goal at length. 
And hear thee say, " Well done !" that so my feet 
May walk unchallenged through the heavenly street. 

Not as I will, but, leaning on Thy love, 
I fain would grow to what thou dost approve ; 
Then, amid gloom, and storm, and withering blight, 
My soul shall know no fear, distrust, nor night. 



"PEACE ON EARTH." 

Glad sound, that since the Saviour's birth 
Hath never ceased to vibrate through 

The din, the strife, the woes of earth. 
Bidding each heart take hope anew — 

We hear thee, though the nations still 
Forget not war, and lust of gain, 

While pride, ambition, lure to ill. 

And fill the tempted heart with pain. 

The song rejoicing angels sung 

We hear, but count its burden lost : 

No peace these changing scenes among, — 
No rest on seas so tempest-tossed. 



148 POEMS. 



O pure, pure lips, that breathed along 
Judea's hills that heaven-born strain, 

Now, when all painful memories throng 
Across the soul's o'ershadowed fane, 

Still whisper "peace" that may be found, 
Not in the glare of earthly light, 

But in the spirit's depths profound, 
Made by God's smile serenely bright. 

Peace reigned within that sinless breast 
That bled on Calvary's awful height. 

When "not my will but Thine" expressed 
The love, the trust, no change could blight. 

" My peace !" O lips that breathed that word 

O'er Judea's hills, repeat it now ; 
And, through life's jars and tumults heard, 
Each shade shall flit from heart and brow. 



A BENEDICTION. 



A life made beautiful by kindly deeds ; 

A generous heart and hand to sorrow's needs ; 

A smile that chastened grief by its warm glow ; 

A tear not for its own, but others' woe ; 

A presence making sunshine where she trod, 

Glad with the happy, reverent toward God, — - 

Such her we mourn, whose memory, like a flower, 

Gathers new fragrance with each passing hour. 



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leaded, and is bound in excellent taste. Altogether it is one which we sus- 
pect will be looked back upon a generation hence by people who now read 
it in their childhood, and they will hunt for the old copy to read in it to their 
children." 

A leading Sunday-school paper further says : " No better book for a 
Sunday-school library has been published for a long time. Scholars of all 
ages will read it with delight. Teachers and parents will share the chil- 
dren's enjoyment." 

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AMY HERBERT." A Glimpse 
of the World. By Miss E. M. Sewell. i vol. i6mo. Cloth. 
PP- 537 I 50 



After Life. 



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Lr. STONE. Domesticated Trout. How to Breed and 

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A work of incalculable importance to the farmer, treating the new system 
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It would be difficult to find a more comprehensive compend of business 
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THOMAS KIRWAN. Electricity; What it is, Where it 

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I vol. i2mo. Paper, pp. X04. Illustrated O.25 

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POETRY BY AMERICAN AUTHORS. 

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POETRY BY AMERICAN AUTHORS. 

EDWARD F. HAYWARD. Patrice? Her Love and 

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LEWIS. The Poems of Alonzo Lewis. New, revised, and 

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PAINE. Bird Songs of New England. Imitations in verse. 

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FRANCES L. MACE. Legends, Lyrics, and Sonnets. 

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CUPPLES. Driven to Sea ; or, The Adventures of Norrie 
Seton. By Mrs. George Cupples. Illustrated. Cloth, full gilt 
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The Deserted Ship: A Story of the Atlantic. 



By George Cupples, author of " The Green Hand." Handsomely 
bound in cloth, gilt, extra. i2mo. Illustrated 1. 00 

"In these two absorbing sea stories — 'The Deserted Ship' and 
'Driven to Sea' — the peril and adventures of a sailor's life are graphically 
described, its amemties and allurements being skilfully offset by pictures of 
its hardships and exposures, and the virtues of endurance, fortitude, fidelity, 
and courage are portrayed with rough-and-ready and highly attractive 
effusiveness. " — Harper's Magazine. 

NEWTON. Troublesome Children: Their Ups and 
Downs. By William Wilberforce Newton. With ten full- 
page colored illustrations, and fifteen plain engravings by Francis G. 
Attvvood. I vol. Thick oblong 4to. Exquisitely colored covers . . 2.00 

Being wholly without cant, affectation, or any attempt to enter into 
the subtleties of religious creeds, the purity, sweetness, and combined 
tenderness and humor, together with its high moral tone, will give it an 
entrance to our homes and our American firesides in a way suggestive of 
the welcome accorded to the " Franconia" stories and " Alice's Adventures 
in Wonderland." 

HEIDI: Her Years of Wandering and Learning. How 
SHE USED what SHE LEARNED. A story for children and those 
who love children. From the German of Johanna Spyri, by Mrs. 
Francis Brooks. 2v0ls.ini. i2mo. Cloth, pp. 668. Elegant 1.50 

This work was the most successful book for the young issued during the 
season. The whole edition was exhausted before Christmas. To meet the 
steadily increasing demand, the publishers now offer a popular edition at a 
popular price, namely, $1.50, instead of $2.00. 

The Atlantic Monthly pronounces" Heidi" "a delightful book . . . 
charmingly told. The book is, as it should be, printed in clear type, well 
leaded, and is bound in excellent taste. Altogether it is one which we sus- 
pect will be looked back upon a generation hence by people who now read 
it in their childhood, and they will hunt for the old copy to read in it to their 
children." 

A leading Sunday-school paper further says: "No better book for a 
Sunday-school library has been published for a long time. Scholars of all 
ages will read it with delight. Teachers and parents will share the chil- 
dren's enjojmient." ^ 

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BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 



SEVEN AUTUMN LEAVES FROM FAIRY LAND. 

Illustrated with etchings, i vol. Small 4to. Cloth, pp.136 . . $1.50 

MRS. H. B. GOODWIN. Christine's Fortune, i vol. 

i6mo. Cloth 1. 00 

— _ Dr. Howell's Fortune. A 

Story of Hope and Trust. 3d edition, i vol. i6mo. Cloth. . . i.oo 

One Among Many. A Story. 

I vol. i6mo. Cloth 1. 00 

CARROLL WINCHESTER. From Madge to Margaret. 

3d edition, i vol. lamo. Cloth 1. 25 

■—--— — --— ^— — ^— — The Love of a Lifetime. 

An old New England Story, i vol. i2mo. Cloth 1. 25 

MARY S. FULLER. Five Little Flower Songs. For 
the Dear Wee Folk. Large 4to. Pamphlet. Beautifully embossed 
pages 0.50 

Contents. — I. The Merry Sunflower. II. The Mayflower's Hiding- 
place. III. The Golden-rod and Purple Aster. IV. Out in the Old- 
fashioned Garden. V. Ragged Robin. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " AMY HERBERT." A Glimpse 
OF THE World. By Miss E. M. Sewell. i vol. i6mo. Cloth. 
PP- 537 1-50 

i^— ^— ^— — — — ^-^— — ^— After Life. 

I vol. Large i2mo. Cloth, pp. 4S4 1. 50 



^^^=^ CupPLES, Upham, & Company keep always in stock a large 

line of Juvenile Books. Sunday-school and other libraries supplied at 

special rates. Send for catalogues and price-lists. 

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JAMES R. NICHOLS. Whence, What, Where? A View 
OF THE Origin, Nature, and Destiny of Man. With por- 
trait. 9th edition, revised, i vol, 121110. Cloth $1.00 

NATHANIEL S. FOLSOM. The Four Gospels. Trans- 
lated from the Greek text of Tischendorf, with the various readings 
of Griesbach, Lachmann, Tischendorf, Tregelles, Meyer, 
Alford, and others, and with Critical and Expository Notes. 3d 
edition, i vol. i2nio. Cloth, pp. 496 2.00 

E. J. H. First Lessons in the Articles of our Faith, 
and Questions for Young Learners. By E. J. H. With 
Introduction by Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D. i6mo. Boards . . 0.30 

"A child who studies these pages, under wise directions, can hardly help 
being drawn into the presence of Jesus, hearing him speak, seeing him act, 
and so feeling, as the first disciples felt, the strong impulse to love him, to 
trust him, to obey him, and to give the heart and life into his care." — Ex- 
tract /rojn Introduction. 

LOVING WORDS FOR LONELY HOURS. Oblong. 

Leaflet, tied. 22 pp. Printed in two colors. 6th thousand . . . 0.50 

Series. 22 pp. 2d thousand O.50 

KNAPP. My Work and Ministry. With Six Essays. By 

Rev. W. H. Knapp. 3d edition. i6nio. 327 pp 1. 50 

NEWTON. Essays of To-Day. Religious and Theological. 
By Rev. Wm. W. Newton, Rector of St. Paul's Church, Boston. 
i2mo. Cloth. 253 pp 2.00 

"LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED." Square 
i2nio. Leaflet, tied. 48 pp. Printed in two colors. Illuminated 
covers. 4th thousand 0.75 

REV. D. G. HAS KINS. Selections from the Scriptures. 

For Families and Schools, i vol. i2nio. 402 pp 1. 50 

G. P. HUNTINGTON. The Treasury of the Psalter. 

i2mo. Cloth 1.25 

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AMY HERBERT." Thoughts 

FOR the Age. New edition. i2mo. 34S pp 1. 50 

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IVAN TOURGUENEFF. Poems in Prose. With portrait. 

I vol. i2mo. Cloth, gilt top, uncut edges $1-25 

E. C. WINES, D.D., LL.D. The State of Prisons and of 
Child-Saving Institutions in the Civilized World, i vol. 
8vo. Cloth, pp. 719 2. 00 

A vast repository of facts, and the most extensive work issued in any 
language, on matters relating to prison discipline and penal justice. 

JAMES H. STARK. Illustrated Bermuda Guide. A 
description of everything on or about the Bermuda Islands concerning 
which the visitor or resident may desire information, including its 
history, inhabitants, climate, agriculture, geology, government, military 
and naval establishments. With maps, engravings, and 16 photo- 
prints. I vol. i2mo. 157 pp 1.50 

DIRECTIONS FOR SWEDISH SERVANTS, AND 
PHRASES TRANSLATED INTO SWEDISH. Re- 
vised edition. Paper O.50 

SECRET EXPEDITION TO PERU; or, The Practical 
Influence of the Spanish Colonial System upon the 
Character and Habits of the Colonists. By George 
Ulloa. (Originally published in Boston, 1851.) i vol. i6mo. 
Cloth. 223 pp 1. 00 

GREENE. The Blazing Star. With an Appendix treating 
of the Jewish Kabbala. Also, a tract on the Philosophy of Mr. 
Herbert Spencer, and one on New England Transcendentalism. By 
W. B. Greene. lamo. Cloth. 180 pp 1.25 

HALL. Masonic Prayers. 4to. Large type. Limp cloth . 1.25 

— — Master Key to the Treasures of the Royal 
Arch. A Complete Guide to the Degrees of Mark Master, Past 
Master, M. G. Master, and Royal Arch. Approved and adopted 
tliroughout the United States. By John K. Hall. Morocco, tuck . 0.75 

=— — Master Workman of the Enteped Apprentice 



Fellow-Craft and Master Mason's Degrees. By John K. 
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Gr. H. P. of the Grand Chapter of Massachusetts. Morocco, tuck . 075 



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i6mo. Cloth $1.00 

HASKINS. Selections from the Scriptures. For Fami- 
lies and Schools. By Rev. D, G. Raskins, i vol. 241110. 402 pp. 1.50 

HOWE. Science of Language; or, Seven-Hour System of 

Grammar. By Prof. D. P. Howe. Pamphlet. 30th thousand . . 0.50 

WELLS. The Amphitheatres of Ancient Rome. By 

Clara L. Wells, i vol. 4to. Paper 2.00 

HALL. Modern Spiritualism ; or, The Opening Way. By 

Thomas B. Hall. i2mo. Cloth O.75 

RIBBON BOOKS. Compiled by Mary S. Fuller. 
Loving Words for Lonely Hours. Oblong leaflet, tied. pp. 22. 

Printed in two colors. 6th thousand 0.50 

Loving Words for Lonely Hours. Second series, pp. 22. 2d 

thousand O.50 

"Let not your Heart be Troubled." A further series. lamo, 
leaflet, tied. pp. 48 O.50 

By the Same Author. 

Five Little Flower-Songs. For the Dear Wee Folk. Large 
4to, pamphlet. Beautifully embossed pages 0.50 

Contents. — I. The Merry Sunflower. II. The Mayflower's Hiding- 
place. III. The Golden-rod and Purple Aster. IV. Out in the Old- 
fashioned Garden. V. Ragged Robin. 

HARVEY CARPENTER. The Mother's and Kinder- 

g.^rtner's Friend, i vol. 121110. Cloth ...,,... 1.25 

GEORGE PELLOW. Jane Austin's Novel: A Critical 

Essay, i vol. 8vo. Limp cloth O.50 

WALTER BESANT AND HENRY JAMES. The Art 

OF Fiction. 2d edition, i vol. i6nio. Cloth 0,50 



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ARTHUR LITTLE. New England Interiors. A vol 
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Thick oblong 4to. Illustrated $5-00 

"To those far distant, unfamiliar with the nooks and corners of New 
England, this work will be a revelation." — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

ROLLO'S JOURNEY TO CAMBRIDGE. A Tale of 
THE Adventures of the Historic Holiday Family at 
Harvard under the New Regime. With twenty-six illustra- 
tions, full-page frontispiece, and an illuminated cover of striking 
gorgeousness. By Francis G. Attwood. i vol. Imperial Svo. 
Limp. London toy-book style. Third and enlarged edition ... 0.75 

" All will certainly relish the delicious satire in both text and illustra- 
tions." — Boston Traveller. 

" A brilliant and witty piece of fun." — Chicago Tribtifte. 

W. H. WHITMORE. Ancestral Tablets. A book of dia- 
grams for pedigrees, so an-anged that eight generations of the ances- 
tors of any person may be recorded in a connected and simple form. 

5th edition, i vol. 4to. Boards 2.00 

" Cupples, Upham, & Co., Boston, we are glad to learn, are about to 
issue a new and improved edition of Mr. W. H. Whitmore's ' Ancestral 
Tablets.' No one with the least bent for genealogical research ever exam- 
ined this ingeniously compact substitute for the ' family tree ' without longing 
to own it. It pro\-ides for the recording of eight lineal generations, and is a 
perpetual incentive to the pursuit of one's ancestry." — iV,?«; York Nation, 
March 26, 1SS5. 

JOHN WARE, M.D. Hints to Young Men on the True 
Relations of the Sexes, nth edition, i vol. i6mo. Limp 
cloth 0.50 

STARDRIFTS: A Birthday Book, i vol. Small quarto. 

Imitation alligator, full gilt sides, $2.00 ; full calf 5.00 

An exquisitely made book, compiled by a committee of young ladies, in 
aid of "The Kindergarten for the Blind." Only a few copies remain for 
sale. 

FRANCES ALEXANDER. The Story of Ida. By 
Francesca. Edited, with Preface, by John Ruskin. With 
frontispiece by the author. i6mo. Limp cloth, red edges .... 0.75 

— The Story of Lucia. Trans- 
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Ruskin. i6mo. Cloth, red edges 0.75 

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CAPE COD FOLKS. A Novel. By Sally P. McLean, 

1 vol. : 21110. Illustrated $0.50 

TOWHEAD : The Story of a Girl. By Sally P. McLean. 

I vol. i2mo 0.50 

SOME OTHER FOLKS. By Sally P. McLean. A book in 

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MR. AND MRS. MORTON. A Novel. By "A New Writer." 

9th thousand, i vol. lamo O.50 

THE DISK: A Tale of Two Passions. By E. A. Robinson 

and G. A. Wall. 121110 0.50 

THE NEW BUSINESS MAN'S ASSISTANT. By Isaac 

R. Butts. 49th thousand, i vol. i2mo O.50 

THE WIDOW WYSE. A Novel. 4th edition, i vol. i2mo 0.50 

WHENCE, WHAT, AND WHERE: A View of the 
Origin, Nature, and Destiny of Man. By James R. 
Nichols. 9th edition, i vol. lamo 0.50 

THE STORY OF AN OLD NEW ENGLAND TOWN. 

I vol. 121110 0.50 

ELECTRICITY : What it is, Where it comes from, and 
How it is made to do Mechanical Work. By Thomas 
KiRWAN. 121110. Illustrated, pp. 102 0.25 

THE BITTER CRY OF OUTCAST LONDON. 190th 

thousand. Pamphlet. 8vo O'^O 

AN ACTOR'S TOUR: Seventy Thousand Miles with 

Shakespeare. By Daniel E. Bandmann. i vol. i2mo . . . 0.75 

THE ERRORS OF PROHIBITION: An Argument. By 
the late John A. Andrew, famous as the W^ar Governor of Massa- 
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EVERY MAN HIS OWN POET; or, The Inspired Sing- 
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THE HISTORY OF THE INDEPENDENTS. Pam- 
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CUPPLES HOWE, MARINER: A Tale of the Sea. 

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